Hands Clean
by ArieSemir
Summary: In an alternate universe, Beka Valentine makes a choice which leads to a meteoric rise, a shocking romance, and deadly dangers. This is my contribution to Beka Day '07, slightly late. TyrBeka, CharlemagneBeka. WARNING eventual character death.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Hands CleanAuthor: TravelerOfTheWays  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: None... wait, maybe so. Bits and pieces, probably will be limited to bits and pieces of first two seasons.  
Pairing: Beka/Tyr  
Summary: In an alternate universe, Beka Valentine makes a choice which leads to a meteoric rise, a shocking romance, and deadly dangers.  
Disclaimer: I own not the tiniest bit of Andromeda, the universe, or the characters therein, yadda yadda yadda, except Darjella, the coolest gangster lady ever.

-o-

You might have expected to see her purple, or you might have expected to see her gold. But she is neither of these. Today, in this place, a crimson blush is spread over her skin, touched here and there with silver, the same shimmer as her tightly-curled hair. To complete the picture, she wears pure white, frothy lace dense around her breasts and hips and almost translucent around her midriff and legs.

Today, in this place, Trance Gemini looks a proper valentine.

"The thing is," she says, as if she is starting up from a previous conversation you just missed, "history might be changing right now. You remember your life, and the newspapers and textbooks confirm what you remember. But if it were changing, you wouldn't know. In less than an instant, every bit of paper and every fire of your neurons can show a completely different past."

She pauses and runs a hand experimentally down her lace dress. Her fingers flex and lightly tug at the fabric. She chuckles as the skirt slips back into place.

"But I would know. I know what's changed. I know what's happened." Her lips curve into a wide smile, and she leans in, as if imparting a confidence. "It isn't that I can see the future. Do you understand yet? It's because there is no one future. There are a lot of futures like there are a lot of pasts.

"I thought that today you might like to hear a story about one of these other paths."

-o-

Promises had longed defined Rebecca Valentine's life. Promises broken, promises kept, promises to be fulfilled next time, he swore. Beka made her promises carefully, knowing the power of that word and remembering the pain of the broken edges. In every past and every future, Beka Valentine would pride herself keeping her promises, no excuses, but not even she could keep every one. Beka Valentine was a mere mortal, after all, and the easiest promises to break were those she made to herself, swore silently with a clenched jaw, inevitably after someone else had failed her.

No one knew about these promises but herself, so no one would cry themselves to sleep when she broke them. No one else would suffer because she went back to Bobby one more time, or because she broke down and gave her father a loan they both knew he would never pay back. Those promises were the easiest to break, by her reckoning, but she could never know that it was those promises that shaped her future, sent her spiraling off on different future paths.

On most of those paths, she made one particular promise the first time her father put the Maru into hock. She promised herself that when the Maru was hers, she would never let Doge Hakitch or any other pawn broker or bookie or repo guy or anyone get his (or her or its) scummy hands (or paws or…) on her hull. On most of those paths, she broke that promise when the choice boiled down to leaving the Maru in a hangar while she planned one of the most daring, impossible burglaries of her life or running a certain errand for River Runs Sun Bright.

Beka Valentine liked a challenge, and Beka Valentine liked to pull off stunts people would talk about for years. Since she was not a malicious person, she was not often able to indulge this second hobby very often, but when she felt that someone deserved a particularly nasty and memorable comeuppance, well, she was happy to oblige. For all these reasons, she usually chose the burglary route, succeeded even when the first stage of the plan went terribly wrong, and congratulated herself both on the heist and on keeping that promise.

But sometimes she was feeling a little more cautious and a little less sure of herself, and on those paths, she chose the errand. On the more miserable paths, that errand quickly led to another broken promise – addiction to Flash – and to a few short, hazy years that ended in misery. This is not a story of one of those paths. This is the story of another path.

-o-

"So I run this cargo, and you give me my ship. No strings, no fine print."

River Runs Sun Bright bobbed his insect head in what Beka supposed was supposed to resemble a nod. "I have no wish to keep that claptrap in my hangar any longer than necessary. Deliver the cargo, and she's yours."

"_He's_ mine," she corrected, "and if the Maru's stinking up your cargo bay, I'd be happy to take it off your hands right now."

The Than twitched from side to side and clicked a couple of appendages. That must be a no. "Just make the delivery, Valentine, and next time you and that _thing _dock here, be sure you have the parking fee." River turned and pattered away briskly, pausing before he reached the portal. "I'll contact you when the ship is prepared for departure."

"Yeah yeah," she muttered, "stick it up your shiny green ass." The only other patrons of the bar at this hour were a couple of Flash-fried pilots, staring at her with unreadable expressions behind their thick goggles. They nudged one another, and the skinny one barked a sudden, shrill laugh that made her skin crawl. She kept a grimace from her face only with very great effort and slid off the bar stool a few moments later. Let them win this round, then; she had managed to find a decent breakfast this morning and had no desire to lose it in this place reeking of sweat and cleaner and whatever the cleaner was covering up, anyway.

She made her way back to her little cubby, paid for with the very last of her money, not enough to pay River's ludicrous "parking fee" but sufficient to get her a bed of her own and only a few small insect roommates. They were not even the hissing variety, and she was getting along with them better than their much larger cousins, namely one green bug with a monopoly on hangar space on Streaks of Furling Dawn. It was a name ripe for obscene jokes, the expanse of which comforted her obscurely while her ship lay impounded somewhere inside.

Before River had taken possession of the Maru, Beka had managed to squirrel away a few necessary items in a patchy duffel bag, and now she sat on her bed and shuffled through the contents. Most of what she had saved were flexis: bills, a few novels, and a couple of pictures she had never got around to framing.

The bills begged for her attention, but she simply had nothing to throw at them. Rumor made River's employer out to be a generous fellow, as organized crime lords went, and the Than had promised her a hefty profit in addition to payment of the parking fee. Divine knew she could use a hefty profit right now, or even a meager one.

She occupied herself for a good half hour reading through the various demands for payment, ranking them in order of scale of debt, impatience of debtor, ruthlessness of collectors in debtor's employ, and delinquency. It was not a particularly heartening way to pass the time, but it was to be preferred to being hit on by Flash fliers.

When that game was no longer amusing, she started reading where she had left off in one of her novels, an action thriller with obligatory romance set during humanity's early push to the stars, when interstellar pirating was notoriously difficult to prosecute and a good pilot blessed with a little luck could live high on the proverbial hog.

Captain Alessandro Atina had just opened fire on a cruise ship – the nerve! the daring! – when a heavy pounding rattled her door. Beka jumped to her feet but took her time crossing her cramped quarters. She pressed the comm. button by the door, laughably old-fashioned like something the good captain Atini might have possessed.

"What do you want?" she inquired none-too-politely.

"A package for Rebecca Valentine from River Runs Sun Bright." A kind voice, young enough to squeak in a couple places. The bug had probably chosen the most harmless-sounding kid he could locate for this errand, but Beka was no sucker. In her bag she had also stashed a sometimes-functional gauss pistol, which she drew and held ready as she opened the door.

The kid looked just as innocent as he sounded, though a little uglier. He had a lumpy face and frizzy red hair and an unexpectedly nice smile. He held out a packet and too obviously did not glance at the gun in her hand. She took it and laid it gingerly on the deck before singing the kid's delivery confirmation slip. He nodded and skittered away.

Feeling a little silly for the gun, Beka ripped open the packet to find exactly what she had expected – instructions, a credit chip, and a little insignia she assumed would allow her access to whatever ship River had set aside for this errand. She read the instructins carefully and stuck the flexi into her duffel bag. River had advised that she leave as soon as possible, and for once, she was not inclined to argue with him. Alessandro Atini could wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**B.L.A. the Mouse: **Thank you very much for the review, and I've left the timing somewhat vague deliberately, but I suppose it starts out a few, maybe five years before the rescue of the Andromeda. Sorry about the confusion!

-o-

A week later, Beka found herself dining at Muyandar, the kind of place that made Cavanaugh's look like a mudfoot paper shack, the kind of place where menu prices were not listed and management was so secure in the restaurant's reputation that they did not impose any kind of dress code.

Darjella Milein sat across the table from Beka in an outfit not so different from something she owned, except that the wear and tear at Ms. Milein's knees and elbows was artfully and precisely designed just so, and the scuffed leather belt cost more than dinner. That included the wine, if Beka had chosen to partake.

"I like that," Darjella said when Beka had refused to split a bottle. "Principles. Limits. Whatever you call 'em. I admire that. It's not something you see these days, outside the Prides and the Wayist monasteries." And neither were very useful to her, her tone said.

"It's not so hard," Beka replied, "when you look around and see your alternatives."

A lesser businessperson might have said, "Like your father," at this point, rubbed Beka's face in her dismal past and rather dreary present, but Darjella was better than that. More than the dinner, this show of tact impressed Beka.

"Well put. Someone who looks ahead like that can go far, but you gotta have friends. And I gotta have pilots I trust with sensitive cargo, pilots who won't sell half the shipment on the side and arrive a week late."

Their first course arrived, pale little squishy things swimming in a savory sauce, and Darjella insisted they not talk business while they ate. Beka had no idea what kind of small talk one engaged in with a crime boss, but Darjella was more than happy to direct the conversation. To her great dismay, Beka found herself warming to the woman and agreed to keep an ear open to any business opportunities Darjella might offer her.

Beka left that meeting confused and conflicted and quite full of delicious things she had never tasted before. Besides the food, Darjella had poured milk and honey down her throat, visions of an exciting career replete with dangerous chases - which she would nonetheless outrun, as the brilliant pilot she was – and substantial rewards waiting at the end. The Maru never put in hock again. Those half a dozen nagging debts finally paid off, and for a change, seven more would not sneak up on her to replace them. Great potential for advancement.

"One day," Darjella had said with a chuckle – kidding on the square, amused but quite serious, "you might be sitting here, recruiting some promising young thing with the right attitude and a twinkle in her eye."

The whole thing, that moment, was so cheesy, so straight out of a rags-to-riches holonovel that Beka had to laugh along. "One step at a time," she had replied because that was what maybe protégés said at this point.

-o-

A little less than a month later, one of Darjella's lackeys dropped by with an announcement, by way of another debt paid off and a few stern words with Beka's debtor, who had threatened to take her payment in kind if she could not scrape together the money. The lackey had a job for Beka, but she was not obligated to accept. The money and the admonishment were a gift from Darjella.

Beka justified her acceptance of the job as payment, keeping herself out of a gangster's debt, gift or no. The stash of perfectly ordinary credit chips in perfectly ordinary amounts of money (but oh, they added up quickly) gave her a crisis of conscience. She told herself that she was taking money away from an intergalactic crime syndicate, and it barely sufficed. For six months, though, she could not active the Maru's improved defenses without feeling a pang of guilt. Drug money. Blood money. Dirty, filthy credit – not that most of her employers were much better, but at least they destroyed people's lives on a smaller scale.

If a certain figure from her past had not appeared around the time another lackey called on her, her path still might have gone in a different direction. Beka was mustering her resolve to tell Darjella's latest envoy in polite but firm language that while she harbored no ill feelings toward Ms. Milein, she would refuse this and any further offers of employment or association of any kind, thank you and have a nice day.

Or if a certain figure from her past had even appeared in a more sympathetic light, appealed to the memory of her dear departed dad and her sweet brother, she might have remembered that Darjella probably supplied Flash to thousands of dealers, who in turn snared millions of people like her father. But Marlyn Enneston had barged onto her ship, had demanded that she fork over a ridiculous amount of money to cover Rafe's latest scheme gone wrong – or she would never work in this system or this arm of the Milky Way galaxy again. Enneston had pulled the same stunt with her father, insisting on recompense for vaguely defined injuries perpetrated by Ignatius Valentine's business associates, followed up with the same threat. Word for ugly word, and now Beka had had enough.

It was not just the money. She was sick of big fish like Enneston picking on little fish like the Valentines. While a temporary slowdown of business from this ass end of Milky way – which was the most he could realistically pull off – was no great peril to her livelihood, Beka knew that it would never really end. They lurked in the reeds as far as civilization stretched, and preyed openly where it did not.

"You just try it," she said in a low, fierce voice. "See if I'm begging in the space lanes a year from now. You and me, we'll compare notes, and see which one of us is blowing an FTA subcontractor for a chance to haul the Trade Council's silken delicates." Beka rarely allowed herself such an emotional and… colorful display, but she was _pissed_.

Marlyn backed away in shock and muttered something as he huffed back to his own ship. Over dinner that night, she told Yizendra to expect her at Tears of Tara in two days. Bright and early. Marlyn had passed the café then, opened his mouth no doubt to shout something vulgar through the open façade, but he paled when he saw Beka's dining companion. He hurried off without a word or a backward glance. Yizendra watched the exchange with mildest interest and did not comment on it. They both knew she did not have to.

-o-

Six months after that meeting, Beka had mostly quelled those guilty pangs, and a year later, she discovered Darjella's larger plan.

"You're looking for a replacement?" she asked incredulously, lifting her sunglasses to peer at Darjella's supine form. They were enjoying a weekend at a very exclusive spa, La Porte d'Argent, and were currently engaged in absorbing what the spa literature purported to be the most healthful starshine in the Known Worlds.

"Not until I found you," came the sleepy reply. "It'd never occurred to me before, but when we met… it just hit me. You can go far, Beka. It's more clear to me than ever, and…" she paused to yawn, "I'm amazed to discover that I don't feel like standing in your way." Darjella stretched luxuriantly and turned to lie on her stomach. "I'm thinking of buying a lifetime membership to La Porte, along with a little ship and a few pieces of prime real estate, then letting go all but my favorite few bodyguards."

Beka gaped. "But I'm just a pilot. I don't know anything about…" she shrugged helplessly.

"Running the farm?" One of Darjella's quirks was the great amusement she took in calling her criminal enterprise 'the farm'. It was so pervasive among her employees that Beka found herself using the term; it was, after all, a safe word to bandy around with associates.

"If I asked you what I should do about that annoying Nightsider collective carving up Triangulum at their leisure, what would you say?"

Beka threw her hands up in exasperation. "I don't know! Buy a few of 'em off, turn 'em against each other. I have no idea how you would go about accomplishing any of that." She paused and then continued in a thoughtful tone. "Don't Nightsiders eat their siblings?"

"Exactly! And yes, they do. Now, if I asked you what I should do about Marlyn Enneston harassing some of my people, what would you say?"

Bright anger flared inside Beka at the name, and brief visions of a good old-fashioned breaking of knee caps danced in her brain, tempting her away from the correct answer.

"Enneston's a bully, but he's not completely stupid or completely unconnected. At most, you could blast his ship while he's out shaking down our guys. Show him we mean business, but keep it businesslike." Oh God. When had she started thinking of Darjella and her people as 'us'?

"See? You know what's going on at your level and probably a little above. When you're in a position to shut down overdressed rodents, you'll know what to do, and you'll know how. The details will come with time."

They lay in silence for awhile, basking in the dry heat and fragrant air. "The only variable I can't predict," Darjella continued, "is your conscience. Farming isn't for the faint of heart, it's a dirty business, et cetera. None of this is news to you."

"No," Beka replied faintly.

She fell quiet again and thought. She allowed herself to really think about her father for the first time in a year. She saw him – vital, funny, a bullshitter with the best of them. On a screen inside her skull, she watched him fall from not quite perfect to perfectly abysmal. And she saw him at the end, replayed every excruciating detail she could scrounge up, and realized when she was finished that she was tired of watching those scenes.

So tired. She was done with all that. Slowly burning in the sun on that lounge chair, she finished atoning for her father's mistakes. Rafe was his own man, she added for good measure, free to repeat history or not, as he liked, and she knew that he had known this for years. She let him go, absolved him if she could not quite forgive their abandonment.

When she opened her eyes, Darjella was gone, and her front was burned a violent red. She winced as she stood and tottered back to her suite to slather on some cooling ointment. A spa employee passed her in the hall and quietly inquired if he could show her to the infirmary, where a medic could heal the sunburn in half a minute. She did not stop to think but accepted his help. She was tired of enduring unnecessary pains when the means to heal herself were within her grasp.

The next day, Darjella introduced Beka to her first full-time bodyguard, a hulking Nietzschean with long hair and more weapons on his person than Beka could believe. On some Nietzscheans, the bone blades – often encased in jeweled sheaths – looked like glued-on ornamentation, but like everything else on him, his blades added to the shadow of menace that surrounded him.

"Beka Valentine, Tyr Anasazi. You'd better size each other up now, and get it out of the way. If everything works out, this is going to be the only person you can trust, including me. Of course," she added carelessly, "one of you might be planning to sell the other to the Nightsiders. Trust takes a while."


	3. Chapter 3

**Natta** - Hi there! The order's a bit messed up from EI... some of what's in the third chapter here is in the second chapter over there. Thanks for reading!

**B.L.A the Mouse **- I'm glad the clarification helped. A story can only be so enjoyable if you're confused :). Here's more _finally_. It's always a treat to see your reviews - they're practically a staple of my Andromeda fic here.

**Artemis1000** - Your wish is granted, first interactions and then some. Thank you so much for your review here and on my other Andromeda stories... it's so nice to see those old fics getting some love. It means a lot to me that you've gone and looked at my other fics on the basis of what you've read here.

-o-

Later that year, Tyr foiled the first serious attempt on Beka's life. Someone or someones determined to get rid of Beka had hired a small pack of Kalderans to brutally interrupt her visit with Ne'Holland's aging king. Not only did she survive, but she and Tyr spun the incident to look like an assassination attempt on the king's life on behalf of a trusted minister, prevented at the last minute by her and her loyal bodyguard.

She did not allow her tension to seep through her cool, pleasant, and – most importantly – confident façade until she left the Ne'Holland system. Setting the controls of the renovated and refurbished Eureka Maru to autopilot, she exhaled slowly and rose to face Tyr, standing at the weapons console. She closed her eyes, rubbed her temples, and when she looked up again, Tyr was standing at her elbow. He slipped behind her and set his hands on her shoulders. Under the ministrations of his strong fingers, she relaxed for the first time in two weeks and sighed again.

Finally, she found her voice. It was pleasingly steady. "So. Do I get a medal or something? Is there a club? Though I suppose if anyone deserves a medal, it's you."

A rumble of laughter. Beka reminded herself of Darjella's advice that sleeping with one's bodyguard was occasionally a brilliant idea but usually a very bad one. Sleeping with Nietzscheans was generally held to be impossible unless you were also a Nietzschean or if the Nietzschean in question was not quite right in the head. Or facing death, an instinct to which apparently they were not immune. Or orphaned, without a Pride, which Tyr in fact was.

"Why are you here?" she asked drowsily.

He did not bother with quips about two Nietzscheans loving each other's genealogy very much, for which Beka was deeply grateful.

"Since the annihilation of the Kodiak, I have had to make my own way in the universe. I have goals beyond overpaid security, but I am confident that the good will of... the farm's matriarch will prove a precious commodity. You'll not be so foolish as to incur the wrath of any of the major Prides, but neither will they be hasty to search a confrontation with you."

Her lips curved in a smile. "That's what I love about you, Tyr. You tell me to my face – well, to the back of my head – that you're using me… and you manage to turn it into a compliment." She chuckled. "Me, a matriarch."

-o-

As time went on, they agreed that Beka required a full security retinue, four guards to follow her everywhere except the head and three each to watch her ship and her quarters when the Maru was docked. They also came to the common conclusion that she could not afford to lose Tyr. These days, Beka warranted an intelligence file of her own among players from the Free Trade Alliance to the Than Hegemony to the Drago-Kazov Pride.

"I could keep you on as… the captain of my bodyguard or something, but I have a better idea, if you're willing to make an ass out of yourself in the eyes of the Nietzschean people and the universe as a whole. There's really no point except to maybe throw the Nightsiders and maybe some other people for a loop."

When he leaned on something as he was leaning now, he reminded Beka of the photographs of big cats she had seen, half asleep in the hot sunshine but all muscles and sinew and readiness for that. If he agreed, he would make some very nice arm candy.

The slow smile he gave her told her that he knew exactly what she was proposing. Beka had been in extremely close quarters with Tyr before, had shown weakness to him she had never shown to anyone else, but for the first time, she felt her face redden. This was ludicrous. She was suggesting a legitimate business arrangement.

"So what do you think?"

Tyr slid a knife from a holster at his belt and began trimming his nails, looking completely at ease. She had seen him throw that knife through a man's eye from across a hangar deck. A very, very big hangar deck.

"I think we're both going to have several dozen people laughing at us before the day's over." When he glanced up at her, the grin was still in place. "I think it's an excellent idea."

They shared a quiet moment like, silently applauding their own cleverness. It occurred to Beka, not for the first time, that it would be very easy indeed to profess her adoration of this man to the universe at large. As she rose in the ranks of the Darjella's enterprise, she lost respect for more and more people she had once believed to be quite clever, if not paragons of wisdom. On the contrary, Tyr just became more and more impressive as the days went by, and she began to wonder more and more often when he was going to leave her – as he inevitably would – to strike out and make his own way in the universe.

"If we really wanted to make a spectacle – and no one likes a good spectacle like a bunch of Nietzscheans determined to look down on human foibles, no offense – we could draw this out," Beka said thoughtfully. One of her most pressing concerns these days was a rumored alliance between the Sabra and Jaguar Prides, the latter of whom had a well known grudge against Darjella and the farm, a matter of pirating and black markets on slave worlds. Her best sources told her it would be at least two years before anything concrete happened on that front, which made this the perfect time for the Jaguar Arch-duke to clean up illicit activity within his domain. Beka personally oversaw the coordination of smuggling activity in and out of the Jaguar home system, and she was sure Charlemagne was well aware of this.

"Make it a production," she continued, "like a soap opera." The soap opera, endlessly adaptable, was one of humanity's great contributions to intergalactic civilization.

Tyr returned the blade to its usual home and sauntered toward her. Beka swallowed but kept her expression nonchalant. "You want me to publicly pursue you, like a lovesick poet?"

"Well, I… I don't mean you should strew my path with rose petals or proclaim your love on stage at Aire Sirte. You know, just little things. Believable things, coming from you."

He was standing over her now – looming, more like it. He pitched his voice low, so low she could barely hear him. "Gaze at your intently when you're turned away, softly brush your elbow or the small of your back. Stand a bit closer than usual. Look particularly stony after a whispered conversation or a long night." He pulled back slightly. "And what will you be doing while I'm making a fool out of myself?"

Beka shrugged, unable to repress the smile dancing on her lips. "I'll be… surprised but trying not to show it. Taken aback. If I appear to suffer a sleepless night or two, so much the better." After steeling herself during the space of a second, Beka stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Tyr's middle. He did not react, not even with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"I'll put up a fight, of course, but we both know I don't stand a chance against that tall, dark and handsome bad boy charm." This was very pleasant, standing pressed against him like this. Depending on how much effort they were willing to put into this charade, she might have to get used to a lot more of this.

That reminded her… "Is my retinue to know about this elaborate deception, or…" Inspiration struck her as she spoke. "No, I know. The additional security will be your idea because you think you're just too enchanted with me to think straight." She could not help it; a mischievous giggle escaped her. She could not remembered the last time she had _giggled _like that.

"Not that," she began, recovering herself, "uh, the quality of your work will actually decline in the least, but people will see what they want to see. I'll bet that we get another attempt while you're interviewing for new recruits." And if we find someone really good, she almost added, you can go on your merry way conquering the Known Worlds sooner than you expected.

He reached down and cupped her face in one large hand. "If you like," he murmured, eyes intent upon her and oddly soft, "I'll kill your would-be assassin in an especially ghastly manner."

"Oh stop. I think I'm gonna cry."

As declarations of love – or at least, of intentions to feign love before the cosmos and their inhabitants – it left something to be desired. But it _was_ believable. Coming from him.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I know. I really do have reasons: vacation, laptop malfunction and then a new harddrive. But I'm properly ashamed.

**B.L.A the Mouse** – I swear, I meant it in the most positive way. The sun would shine a little dimmer if I didn't hear from you. I'm glad you enjoy it, and "not just as a shipper" is high praise indeed!

**Artemis1000** – I must admit, I did not write enough pursuing into the upcoming chapters. But shippiness is there, I promise!

**iilex – **Sorry to have kept you (and the rest of my readers) waiting so long. I'm especially flattered that you're reading this despite your dislike of one of the main characters!

-o-

Before the end of their first year together, it had become a tradition that Tyr gave Beka a spa-quality neck rub after someone tried to kill her. For that half hour or so, all she had to do was relax and let her bodyguard and, as time went on, professed paramour work out the tension in her muscles. It was therefore exceedingly appropriate that their first kiss should occur during one of these massages. As Beka had predicted, an assassin bearing an FTA pilot's license they were supposed to see and traces of juice from a variety of peach her people smuggled to Chirew they were not supposed to notice had shown up as a candidate for her bodyguard.

Beka had to hand it to Charlemagne, he hired competent people. Better at killing than at removing all traces of their origin, but she thought Tyr might actually have broken a sweat this time. Figuratively speaking. He assured her that the man was planning for a long-term assignment, that he would not have killed her in the next five minutes, which impressed Beka even more. Impressed her and worried her more. Charlemagne was not going to send a thug, and judging by his determination to sneak a spy and eventual assassin into her innermost circle, he was not going to give up after a single failed attempt.

Well, assassination attempts kept life interesting. Beka made a mental note to up the black market shipments to Chirew. Just because she was deputy to a notorious crime lord did not mean she could not have pet causes. Black market sales were always profitable, of course – she was not exactly giving away fruit and vegetables and small arms – but she liked the idea that fewer slave kids were suffering from scurvy as a result of her incursions into Jaguar territory.

All this was passing through Beka's mind as she lounged in the Maru's pilot chair. The ship would have been almost unrecognizable now to River Runs Sun Bright, that bug who had confiscated him. Tyr's hands worked small miracles on her neck and shoulders while another bodyguard, determined not to be in the employ of anyone with a vested interest in Beka's demise by their extensive background check, stood at the portal. What precisely Skarynet was looking out for in the middle of space, Beka could not say for sure, but she admired the woman's enthusiasm.

"You _smelled_ the peach on him? That's amazing. I'm surprised StellaNova studios hasn't approached you yet to be the subject of an epic biopic or something." She was barely aware of what she was saying, as was usual during these soothing interludes. "I can testify to your prowess as an actor, you know." Oh damn, she thought, and hoped Skarynet had not heard that or at least not thought to make anything of it. "But even just the storyline would make for prime viewing."

"Rebecca, there are a very few episodes in my life to which I have not made you privy," he replied in a low, amused tone. "It is entirely possible that I have been approached and entirely possible that my main source of income for a time when I was unemployed was royalty payments from just such a venture."

Beka craned her neck up to look at him, unsure if he was kidding. The expression on his face did not help her any. It never did. "Hmph. Well, let me see if I've got this right. Born to a Kodiak alpha, Barbarossa, and his favorite wife Victoria. The relationship between them was… complicated, as Nietzschean marital relations tend to be. I mean, moreso than usual. Not that I would know. Um. Orphaned when the Drago-Kazov Pride broke the peace of… of…" She waved a hand around, but Tyr was evidently not interested in enlightening her.

"Well, the peace generally agreed upon by the Prides for the keepers of the bones of Drago Museveni. Another reason to wish a black hole would swallow the Dragan homeworld, as if the universe needed another. Teenage… no, pre-teenage Tyr was orphaned and later enslaved. He escaped slavery when the mines collapsed around him, and he struggled his way out of the mine, then out of the surrounding desert. And then he killed the overseer who not only neglected his concerned comments about faulty safeguards but cut his rations in half for doing so. Am I getting this right?"

He gently pushed her head forward again and slid his hands from the curve of her neck to her biceps. As he did so, he bent down so he was speaking directly into her ear. Whispering, actually. The brush of his warm breath on her ear made Beka shiver. "You are, and I think that's enough for now."

Right. Skarynet. Well, there was not much in that narrative that was not available to interested parties. It was after he had escaped slavery and established himself as a mercenary that things got really exciting.

But he was not finished. "I have heard a rumor of late, involving an enterprising Nightsider and a High Guard starship supposed to be abandoned in the Hephaestus system. If I were not in your employ, madam, it is quite possible I would have answered his request for a team of mercenaries to supplement the unsuspecting pilot he has pulling the ship from the event horizon."

Beka chuckled. "If I were not in Darjella's employ, I might be that unsuspecting pilot. Are you making a suggestion?"

"I'm engaging in idle gossip and speculation."

"And I'm a vestal virgin."

"How promising."

Oh, he was funny. "So is this talk of a High Guard ship. What's her name?"

"The Andromeda Ascendant." He was working his way down her arms, making her alternately wince and sigh when he found and working out tension she had not even known was there.

"But Tyr," she said in a much too innocent tone of voice, "if this Nightsider finds the ship first, well, you know the saying. Finders keepers. And we certainly don't want to go chasing after an elusive fossil of bygone days."

By now he was on her hands, shifting the small bones until her hands felt almost liquid in their new-found relaxation. "So we let him find it… and then we find him. And keep everything, unless he proves uncooperative." In which case he take a long walk out the airlock, Beka finished mentally.

"A High Guard ship," she said dreamily. "If I had a High Guard ship in my hands..." Just in time did she remember the presence of her new bodyguard. Skarynet might not be actively gunning for her, but Beka would wager money that someone in her retinue would be reporting back to Darjella.

Tyr gripped her hands, bringing Beka a little more awake. "If _we_ had a High Guard ship, my dear lady…" he began before pausing to lay a kiss on her neck, which woke Beka up even more. "… there is no telling…" Another kiss, a little higher. "… what we could accomplish." He kissed her again, just below her jaw.

To her delight, and probably Tyr's, Beka distantly heard the sound of shuffling feet. By tomorrow, news of those kisses would start reaching a select few exceptionally sharp ears. Beka figured she might as well give the gossips masquerading as spymasters for the rich and powerful something to keep them atwitter all morning, so she twisted her head to face Tyr. She gave him a wide smile and then tugged him closer for a real kiss.

Skarynet shuffled some more. Beka tried not to laugh and only succeeded because Tyr was managing to fog up her brain quite effectively. After a moment, she was not sure why she had wanted to laugh in the first place.

They were keeping a safe distance, out of sensor range, behind a smattering of rubble the Maru's computer claimed would actually work its way out of the singularity's orbit in a decade or so. She could not imagine how that was possible, but the Maru and his familiar masculine voice had never lied to her.

Beka wished she could see the Andromeda Ascendant. The specs of Glorious Heritage class heavy cruisers made them out to be gorgeous ships, even to a relative engineering neophyte like her. When the Maru had first entered the Hephaestus system, she had released a quiet little problem, unlikely to register on even the Andromeda Ascendant's sensors as anything more than errant space junk. It should begin transmitting at any minute now; Beka fairly itched with impatience.

Skaryent had devised a complex encryption for the transmission which would mask its origin, destination, and content, but the tiny computer on the probe needed a few minutes to work through the intricate programming. The woman was busy at a console now, accompanied by a sleek Makra, Virrt, a specialist on short-term assignment here solely for this occasion. They conversed in low tones which Beka was sure Tyr understood. He stood ready at the weapons console, prepared to fire to Maru's PDLs and any one of the guns at his belt alike.

"Something's coming through," Skarynet announced as Virrt chattered excitedly in his own tongue before switching to Common.

"It's beautiful!" He pressed his controls, and a silver ship, all curves and firepower, replaced the image of rubble on the viewscreen. Beka gazed in awe and heard Skarynet echo her. Only Tyr seemed unmoved.

To pilot a symbol of light and life like that would be a profound joy, one Beka intended to experience as soon as possible. Lately she had been considering that perhaps Darjella could be persuaded to step aside a bit sooner than planned, not that Beka would do much more than discuss the matter with her. Impractical as it probably was, she retained a strong sense of loyalty and would not turn on her mentor unless it became necessary.

"The Tamidan," Virrt announced as the ship belonging to Gerentex's hired crew appeared on the screen, "is leaving the Andrrromeda's hangarrr deck in a hurrrry."

The little ship – little next to the Andromeda Ascendant, a bit larger than the Maru – sped away from the High Guard warship like an unwieldy bullet.

"She is headed towarrrd the singularrrrity!' Virrt exclaimed.

Beka could not believe it, but the data at her console confirmed the Makra's information. "Are they insane?!"

And then she saw starlight twinkle on the bucky cables the Tamidan's pilot had used to drag the Andromeda Ascendant out of the black hole's grasp.

"Son of a bitch!" she hissed.

The Andromeda was falling back into the event horizon, but not before she came alive. Beka's console came alive with data from the probe – the warship's weapons ablaze, as if they would do any good. It would be another minute or so before the Tamidan achieved sufficient distance from the gravity well to open a slip portal. In what she assumed to be a moment of rage, bright green dots on her screen she took for missiles flared and blasted the Tamidan. Sparks flew, but the small ship managed to disappear into the whirling maw of a slip portal.

"That must have been the ship's A.I.," Beka said faintly.

"I realize you're reluctant to use the A.I. eraser," Tyr said from his post, lounging as usual and looking half-asleep, "but this display demonstrates the necessity of subduing it before it subdues us."

Virrt's head jerked up. "Errrase it?? The Andromeda Ascendant's A.I. is a sentient being! Surrrely we can worrrk something out to everrryone's benefit."

"She might once have been sentient," Beka said gently, "but she's been stuck there for three hundred years. She'll probably fire on us the moment she sees us."

Virrt smoothed his short fur in a manner Beka had come to understand expressed frustration or vexation. "After the Tamidan's crrrew trrried to salvage herrr and then thrrrow herrr back into the singularrrity, it's no surrprrrise!"

Virrt was right, but so was Tyr. Beka was not going to risk her life and her ship in interest of A.I. rights. The eraser they had procured was a blunt instrument, a last resort; it would completely erase the computer's personality core, possibly shut it down completely. It was entirely within the realm of possibility that the ship would never function at optimum capacity again, but Beka could live well for the rest of her life on the profit from the nova bombs alone.

Tyr gave Skarynet a look, bland to anyone who did not know him. She nodded and turned to Virrt. "Perhaps you should wait the rest of the mission out in your quarters. You've been very helpful so far, and we'll call you again if you're needed."

"You'rrre going to use it, arrren't you?? I must prrrotest, Captain, that ship is a sentient being, and…" Virrt's words were cut off when he noticed Skarynet pulling her gauss gun.

"Don't play the wounded idealist, Makra," Tyr drawled. "You knew how this would end. Your greed for Captain Valentine's well-known generous recompense outweighed your lofty morals, which shows the strength of those convictions."

Virrt's catlike eyes narrowed, but he did not argue.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Multiple chapters because y'all more than deserve to be fully caught up with the story.

-o-

"He ruined everything."

Beka entered Andromeda's command center to see two strangers standing over a dead body and watching Tyr warily. The speaker, who she assumed was talking about Tyr though she was staring at the body, was a young woman with short blond hair, short shorts, and a long tail. What was more, she was purple – not choking or bruised, just a lovely shade a little darker than lilac. Her eyes as she looked down at the uniformed corpse were enormous.

In the flickering emergency back-up lights, Beka saw Tyr eyeing the pair suspiciously, cradling his gun and making no attempt at his usual relaxed façade. He seemed to have dismissed the girl as a major threat, keeping his attention instead focused on the young man, short like his companion and blond, but he looked like a plain old human being. A mudfoot, judging from his skinny frame and the creeping rash on his neck. The harsh, pale lights washed out his complexion and emphasized gray smudged of dirt all over him.

He had a protective arm slung around the girl, but the glare he was drilling into Tyr promised retribution. "And what did you guys do to the ship?? One minute she's telling us we're falling into the black hole, and the next, everything goes boom. You killed her too, didn't you?"

Beka glanced at the body on the floor and up at Tyr, mentally promising to extract the full story later, but right now, she had to decide what to do with these two.

"We erased the ship's AI, yes," Beka began, and at the young man's outraged expression and angry cry, continued in a louder voice. "and I'm not going to justify myself to you. We can discuss the matter like reasonable adults, if you want. But first, who are you, and what are you doing here?"

The boy was wearing a defiant expression, face set in that stubborn glare, so it was the girl who answered. "We were with Gerentex, but he got scared when we found… him." She nodded at the body. "Um, I'm Trance Gemini and this is Seamus Harper." Her voice was soft and sad, though she could hardly have made friends with the dead man and his ship in the few minutes she had known them.

The mention of Gerentex redirected the young man's anger, and he spoke up hotly. "That rat-faced bastard tried to feed us to the black hole! First he smuggled mercenaries onto the Tamidan without telling us to kill him, and then he tried to kill us. If I ever see his ugly rodent face again, I'll swear I'll show him what we did to rats back on Earth, I'll-"

A quiet giggle escaped the girl. "I don't think they have stew pots big enough for that, Harper." When he looked at her with an expression of mock outrage, she bit her lip and averted her eyes, still smiling.

The girl's little joke appeared to calm the boy down, so Beka took the opportunity to ask him what had happened. Seamus Harper was a born storyteller, gesticulating wildly at the dramatic moments and sprinkling the tale with slang she barely understood. He recounted how they boarded the Andromeda to find her dark but with functional life support. They wandered around the ship, looking for specs and the command center when suddenly the ship came to life and a High Guard captain straight out of legend came storming in and demanding to know what they were doing with his ship.

A testy Captain Hunt notified Gerentex of his presence, and instead of coming to meet the man and talk, the Nightsider sent in the mercenaries he had smuggled about the Tamidan without her captain's knowledge. But they were no match for Hunt's High Guard training, and he disposed of them efficiently. To Harper's amazement, he gave Gerentex yet another chance to settle this in a civilized manner, to which Gerentex had responded by fleeing the ship with the nearest members of the Tamidan's crew and attempting to shove the Andromeda into the singularity.

"But Captain Hunt didn't just give up. He figured he could launch the ship's nova bombs into the black hole and create… a sorta explosion, a white hole, and we could ride the shock wave outta the system. And that's when you guys showed up. Everything went real dark and quiet, and then Dylan – that was his name – Dylan started calling for Andromeda, and when there was no answer, he just…"

"He lost everything," Trance interjected, no longer smiling. She was gazing at Captain Hunt's body again, mournful and almost dreamy. "She was all he had left, the only surviving piece of his Commonwealth."

Harper glanced at her and continued his story when she fell silent. "Right. Um… Well, he was screaming, and then he showed up," he said with a jerk of his head in Tyr's direction, "and Dylan just lost it. He took out his force lance and started firing in the dark, screaming at the top of his lungs that he wasn't going to take the Andromeda away from him and that he had already killed him once… it freaked us out. He musta thought he was someone else. I pulled Trance behind a console, out of the firefight, and by the time I got the back-up power working, Dylan was dead."

A bare nod from Tyr served to confirm the story. "He was a worthy opponent," he offered. "Good accuracy for an insane human shooting in the dark." It sounded vaguely like a eulogy.

"He was a good man," Trance said. "He could have changed the universe." Harper patted her shoulder.

Beka let a moment pass and then spoke up. "Well, he's gone, and this ship's mine."

"Hey!" Harper cried. "She's open salvage, finders keepers!"

"Is that a challenge?" Tyr inquired lazily.

The boy did not reply but glowered and patted Trance's arm again.

"Good, I'm glad we got that settled. We found it, and we're keeping it. Now, as you can see, I'm gonna need some help getting her back into decent shape. You two can stay if you like, or one of my crew will see you to whatever system you choose."

Trance's head snapped up, and she regarded Beka with unconcealed surprise. Harper took no notice of his friend's reaction; he was too busy glaring at Tyr.

"And work for the uber? Not freakin' likely."

Beka turned her captain voice on full force and crossed her arms. "Actually, you'd be working for me, and as the captain, I'm the only one allowed to make racial slurs. Got it?"

This seemed to mollify Harper a little. He dragged his eyes away from Tyr to focus on Beka. "Yeah? And who are you, exactly?"

Beka held back a grin. Snotty kid. She couldn't help liking him, annoying as he was. "I am Captain Beka Valentine of the Eureka Maru. My employer is Darjella Milein, and if you can't handle that, you should just leave now."

Harper's mouth dropped open. "The gangster? Spiritual heir of Tony Capeone?"

Beka stared.

"Never mind," he muttered. Weird slang must be a mudfoot thing, she thought. "So what, you're not gonna set your goon here on us?" He sounded skeptical, but Beka detected more than a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"Not unless you piss me off, and I promise to give you fair warning."

"Well," Harper said slowly, "the ship's gonna need a lotta work, and you couldn't have picked a better engineer if you searched the Known Worlds top to bottom." He turned his attention to the girl. "Trance, whaddya think?"

She scratched her head and shrugged. "I don't like gangsters very much, but…" She paused and met Harper's eyes with a tiny smile back on her face. "They have a really pretty garden here. I saw a bunch of flowers there that are supposed to be extinct." A note of excitement crept into her voice, and she turned to look at Beka. "And I'm pretty good with people. Fixing them, I mean. They're not so much harder than plants. Except people need anesthesia, and…"

Harper coughed, not subtly, and the girl subsided. Beka called the rest of her crew wandering Andromeda's corridors and told them to meet her in Command. When they came together, Beka took a deep breath and introduced her battle-hardened bodyguards to their new engineer and their new medic.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: And with this chapter, you're caught up with the story and my posting at ExIsle.

-o-

"I knew we'd get along," Trance interrupts, wearing the same mournful, dreamy expression she wore as she gazed at Captain Hunt's dead body. "even though Beka sometimes left Harper and me behind on assignments because she thought I wouldn't want to know what they were doing. Even though she hurt and killed people; but then, she's never been able to lead a peaceful life.

"The worst was when she helped Flash dealers. I don't think she slept very well after those assignments. Tyr tried to help, in his way, but it start to wear on her. The thing is, she was _good_ at helping them. Just like she was good at smuggling peaches to Chirew, she was good at smuggling Flash and good at intimidating dealers who tried to move in on Darjella's territory.

"So she had two choices. She could quit, but you know by now that Beka Valentine isn't a quitter." Trance laughs here, a little bitterly. "It was one of her mantras, you know. I wish I could have met her sooner, maybe before she met Tyr. Like I said, he tried to help, in his way, but she needed someone to balance him out. Dylan would have done that, and maybe I could have helped, but I found her too late.

"She couldn't quit. So in order to stay sane, she had to become hard."

-o-

As she waited for the airlock to finish pressurizing, arm in arm with Tyr, Beka allowed herself a deep, heartfelt sigh. She was glad to be finished with the business of the last two weeks and would soon be glad to see the two crewmates she had dropped off just before the assignment. Harper had begged to attend a surfing competition, and Beka had been so overwhelmed with relief at his timing that she had not made even a perfunctory objection. She hated thinking up excuses to leave Trance and Harper behind, but she hated more the thought of those two, especially Trance, tagging along when she arranged and carried out the murder of a rival Flash dealer honing in on Darjella's territory.

She told herself – and Tyr tended to agree – that killing Flash dealers was a service to the Known Worlds. So often during her adolescent years had she dreamed of killing the dealers who enslaved her father that this should have felt like fulfilling that fantasy. She told herself that it did feel like that, that it felt good and satisfying and right. If part of her was inclined to argue, well, she was not inclined to listen. If she wanted to stay in Darjella's good graces, she would have to do her damn job without whining. And if she did not want to stay in Darjella's good graces, she might as well throw herself out the airlock. Outer space would not care to prolong her suffering.

But it felt good to be finished, too. And hell, she _had_ done the job pretty well. "So suck it up already," she muttered and ignored Tyr's inquiring glance, gritting her teeth in a prepared smile for the sake of her two crewmates.

A hatch slid open to admit Harper and Trance, both a little darker after two weeks in the sun.

"Hiya, boss!" Harper called cheerfully. "Check it out!" He hoisted a silver cup that probably had more mass more than he did and waved it around, a trifle unsteady under its weight.

"Tenth place!" Trance supplied, practically bouncing at his side.

Beka quirked an eyebrow. "Tenth place?"

"Out of six hundred," Harper added.

Her forced grin bloomed into a genuine smile. "Nice job, kid. Now set that thing down before you fall over, and get your ass down the engine room. Path's making weird noises at anything above 10 PSL."

"Aww, give me a break," he whined. But the smile he wore to match hers belied his tone, and soon he was scampering down the corridor, recounting the most exciting moments of the competition to Trance, who had doubtless heard it all ten times already but bore his bragging with cheerful patience.

Skarynet chose that moment to emerge from an adjoining corridor, and she watched Harper with a thoughtful expression on his face. While she would never be friendly with Beka the way Trance and Harper were, she had grown comfortable enough around her employer to express her misgivings from time to time. Fortunately for everyone, Beka thought, she knew enough to express them in private.

"Good for him. I wonder if Trance will have a conference on the migratory habits of the blue spotted snail the next time we have to dispose of an inconvenient player." She spoke quietly and without a trace of heat in her voice. Only then did she appear to notice Beka, though she could hardly have missed her, standing a foot away. "Excuse me, I'm about to start a shift in Command."

Beka held her tongue until the woman was out of sight and then turned to face Tyr. "Don't even say it."

He gave her his most innocent expression, which only served to make him look very guilty. After a prolonged glare on her part, he relented. "I don't have to say anything, Rebecca. You know my opinion on the subject."

She knew it very well. He had been regaling her, in fact, with the intricacies of his opinion on the subject intermittently for the past two weeks, and other members of the crew had dropped significant hints. Even those like Skarynet who had warmed to the pair could not help resenting them for weakening Beka, as they saw it. She was losing their confidence, and she knew it.

"Glad to hear it," she replied wearily. "Didn't you promise me good news this morning? I have yet to hear anything from anyone besides those two that is not an attack on my leadership."

If he was bothered by her complaint, he showed no sign of it. To the contrary, his lips curved in a small smile, and a warm note of amusement touched his voice when he answered. "We have congratulations to make to an old friend of ours."

They continued their walk from Command to the Obs Deck, which had quickly become their favorite spot on the ship to talk and enjoy each other's company. Maintaining their charade – Beka doubted that any real good had come of it, after all, but if Tyr was not going to complain about it, she would not bring it up – had become so easy it worried her sometimes. There was more than a little feeling in every kiss and touch, at least on her side. The kisses and touches were certainly more convincing that way.

She kept her arm in his, though there was no one present to see it. "Oh, don't tell me there's a swarm of little Gerentexes devouring each other in some godforsaken swamp."

"Not quite. The esteemed Arch Duke of Pride Jaguar has agreed to take a Sabra bride, in the hopes of establishing a truce between their two peoples. Elsbett Mossadim is the First Daughter and quite a specimen, if the rumors are true."

Fertrun Nav, another of Beka's bodyguards, was making his silent way down a perpendicular corridor. To her shock, the man had the temerity to glare coldly at her as she passed, not acknowledging her presence with a word. This had to stop.

Tyr continued speaking in a normal tone as they went their separate ways, but his eyes traced the bulkheads as if he could see the other man through them. Tyr did not approve of what he considered coddling of Trance and Harper, but he approved even less of the slightest sign of insubordination from Beka's crew. If Fertrun remained on board to see their next mission, Beka would be very surprised.

"People are saying he's unworthy of her," Tyr said. Anyone listening in would have thought him wholly absorbed in recounting idle gossip, but she could read the intent expression on his face. Most of his attention was focused on the matter of their crewmates, calculating and estimating and planning for various scenarios.

"I wouldn't want _my_ daughter marrying him," Beka replied in the same light tone. "But there must be more to it than that. Surely he hasn't tried to kill that many people."

The hatch to the Observation Deck hissed open, displaying a gorgeous starscape. Light-years away, a nebula shimmered scarlet and purple and azure against a milky stretch of galaxy. Whether it was logical or not, Beka always felt the burden of her worries lighten when she stared out from this powerful and comfortable ship into the vastness of space. No matter what was out there, she could put up a decent fight with the Shining Path. The most serious problem would come from inside, she knew.

"There is more. Charlemagne Bolivar commands a great fleet, but his decadent lifestyle and various… eccentricities have earned the reputation of a fop. I must admit that until he first tried to kill you, I would have agreed with the majority on this point." First, he said, for Charlemagne had tried at least two other times to eliminate her.

"He's a sneaky little son of a bitch," Beka agreed. "Tyr, I don't see how this is good news. Actually, I think it's very bad news. With the resources of those two prides combined at his beck and call, he might finally succeed in getting past even you."

She was leaning on the ledge that ran along the bottom edge of the viewport, and Tyr's arm had snaked around to rest on her waist. This close, she could feel the rumble of Tyr's laugh when he replied. "I would be insulted if I had not thought the same thing myself. But I maintain that this is good news because it presents us with a rare opportunity."

Beka turned partway to look at Tyr, not bothering to hide her curiosity. "Don't tell me we're gonna crash the wedding, thereby eliminating two threats to both our lives and Darjella's income." She hoped that Tyr was going to tell her exactly that.

He smiled. "It will not be necessary to crash the wedding because there is not going to be a wedding. And you won't even feel obliged to send the purple girl and her mudfoot away on a fishing trip."

-o-

Trance pauses, and interrupts her tale once more. "It was just a lie. Funny how a few words can have such power. When I think back on it, this must have been where it all started. Where it ended, I mean. Those words had more impact on the fate of the Known Worlds than the murders, the drugs, any of it. Except Dylan, of course, but you already knew that." She shakes herself and looks down at her hands, lost for words for a long moment.

"I should have seen it. I should have tried to stop it, but maybe it wouldn't have mattered, in the end."


	7. Chapter 7

**B.L.A. the Mouse - **Finally, I know! Well, there are… turbulent waters ahead indeed. Yay sympathy for the characters! It's nice to hear they're engaging some emotion.

-o-

"You have no factual basis for these conjectures, do you?"

"Of course not," Beka replied with a rehearsed air of indifference. "It's a lot harder to trace the path of the rumor if you don't know where the information came from; I prefer it that way."

Darjella gave a short laugh and eyed Beka carefully. "So Elsbett doesn't know who to sue for defamation of character when she hears that she's actually been training her whole life to destroy her fiance's home planet the day of their nuptials."

"If by sue you mean brutally murder, then yes, that's exactly what I mean." Beka took a sip of her icy drink and let her gaze wander out to the hellish landscape that stretched out beyond the restaurant's picture windows made of scratch-proof plastic a foot thick.

Some people had the strangest ideas about luxury; for the owner and patrons of _Hell_, it was an exclusive eatery built on a molten planet where diners could look out over the toxic lava flows that boiled over every inch of the world's surface except the adamant platform that made the restaurant's foundation. Naturally, the chefs specialized in cold foods – cold drinks, cold soup, cold desserts, cold salads. Beka had considered asking about cold cereal but decided against it.

"It's a sentiment I can appreciate," Darjella replied. She did not look to have aged a day from when Beka had first met her; she was eternal, a force of nature. "But surely there must be some reason you're spreading such inflammatory gossip."

Beka shrugged. "Like you said, it's conjecture. The two prides have been at war since before either of them were born, and it's a little hard to believe that the Sabra would suddenly decide to capitulate to the treaty Charlemagne proposed. Elsbett's sister is married to a Dragan general, and the only thing that's accomplished is to humiliate her family."

More than once it had occurred to Beka that if the Sabra were led by reasonable people, they would agree to Charlemagne's proposed alliance. The long-standing hostility between the two prides had served to demolish Sabra forces and make a significant dent in Jaguar's vast resources. A truce would be the most practical action for everybody, but she had dealt with enough Sabra Nietzscheans in her time that she would not be surprised if the rumor she was trying to start turned out to have some degree of truth. Maybe not that Elsbett was actually planning to call a nova attack on the Jaguar system the day of her wedding, but Beka would be very surprised if Elsbett was not planning to wreak a little vengeance with this opportunity.

"But most importantly," she continued, "you know I've sold novas from the Path to allies of the Sabra and of the ruling family in particular. You know they could do it."

Darjella nodded slowly and glanced at the desolate planet outside. "Nietzscheans don't engage in self-sacrifice very often, but when they do, they make it flashy. Lose a First Daughter and her retinue to gain the destruction of their chief rival? I imagine that the math could be very palatable to the Sabras."

A moment of silence descended as a waiter arrived with their main courses. The food was very good, but Beka would rather have had a bowl of steaming hot chili than this cool blue bisque. Growing up, hot food had always been something to look forward to.

After a few bites, Darjella looked up with a small grin on her face. "And it certainly wouldn't hurt either of us if the two prides remained at each other's throats."

"The idea did occur to me," Beka answered with complete honesty.

-o-

Sitting in the mess one day, toasting a muffin and sipping tea Trance had turned her on to, Beka reflected that a good deal of the important conversations in her life occurred during meal times. Maybe people were more amenable when they were eating, or maybe they just liked having something to do with their hands, somewhere to rest their gaze if the exchange got a little too intense.

When Trance walked in a few minutes after Beka had entered, two thoughts struck her. First, that it was unusual that they two of them should be alone here, together – Beka without Tyr and Trance without Harper. Tyr was paid to guard Beka, and Harper seemed to have taken it upon himself to do the same for Trance, _gratis._ The second thought was that this was going to be another one of those meals as an excuse for a conversation, though there was nothing obvious in Trance's demeanor to suggest that she had anything of the sort in mind.

"Good morning, Beka!" Trance cried cheerfully. "Ooh, do we have any of those muffins left?"

"Take as many as you like," Beka replied. "I think everyone else aboard is too worried about their figures to enjoy 'em."

Taking her captain at her word, Trance took as many as she could fit in her two hands and brought them over to the table where Beka sat, dumping them with glee to roll about on the flat top. "Too bad for them," she said, already mysteriously having finished half a muffin. "But good for us."

"I couldn't agree more." Well, now that they were alone together, Beka thought she might as well get to whatever it was she thought they were supposed to be talking about. "You and Harper have been on this ship for, what, a month now?"

Trance nodded, surreptitiously wiping crumbs from her fingertips on her velvet catsuit. "Five weeks tomorrow."

"And, um, how are you feeling?" The toaster dinged, and Beka got up to rummage around for a plate. She flipped the muffin halves on the plate, almost burning her hand in the process, and returned to the table.

"Good," Trance answered somewhat unhelpfully. "Harper's having a lot of fun." She smiled. "I think he used to dream about ships like this."

Beka laughed. "Great, glad to hear it. Are you having fun?"

The thoughtful expression on Trance's face worried her a little. This silence was a surprising departure from her usual exuberance. "I'm glad we came." The laconic reply was so out of character for Trance that Beka waited for a long moment before she realized the girl was finished.

"But…?" Trance just sat quietly, but she did not avoid Beka's glance. Quite to the contrary, her eyes locked onto Beka's, more expressive than usual. Beka thought the girl was trying to communicate something to her, but she gave no hint as to what it might be. "Am I going to have to guess what's wrong?" she asked, a touch irritably.

"Well…" Trance said slowly, "it's not that anything's wrong. I mean, not so terribly wrong. But if you think that maybe something's wrong, I think it would be a good idea to talk about it."

Oh, this was Trance's scheme, a shrink session. Well, to be fair, Beka could probably use a little therapy.

"All right," she answered, "I think maybe something is wrong. I mean, but it doesn't have anything to do with you." Her heart pounded inside her suddenly tight chest. She had never spoken about this with anyone; normally she took her concerns to Tyr and occasionally to Darjella, who both tended to give thoughtful counsel. But Tyr was one of those worries, and she would feel silly taking this particular problem to her mentor.

"Uh…" she swallowed. Dammit, she felt ridiculous. She had not had such a hard time with words since she asked Sean Wil to dance at the Salvage Guild's Debutante Ball. And look where _that_ had ended up. "Maybe it does have something to do with you. No offense. But you must have noticed that things have been… tense since you and Harper came on board."

Trance's eyes were wide as she stopped chewing in the middle of bite. "Mmf?" She swallowed. "I meant, I thought it was always like that. I thought that's what you wanted to talk about. You know, the stress of the job, and…" Her forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. "You don't want to quit? Go back to the old life, the little guy, just you and your ship and a loyal crew?"

Beka gaped. "I… quit?" Her mouth snapped close after a moment. "No, I… that's not…" She paused and took a deliberate breath. "Yes, I've thought about it, but I don't think I can leave. Even if Darjella and the rest let me just walk away, I'm not sure that I could. I've gotten used to all this."

She made a sweeping gesture, taking in the whole of the Shining Path. "Clean linens, fresh coffee… small to medium dictators kissing my ass so I won't crush their fleets." She sighed. "Even the stuff I've tried to keep you away from. Revenge. When I was the little guy, I had to just take it, you know, from anyone bigger than me, and I felt too guilty to take my anger out on the littler fish. I don't think I can do that again, swallow that shit with a smile." Her face twisted in a grimace. "Please, sir, can I have some more?" she said in a high, mincing voice.

She found Trance staring at her with a shocked and almost… frightened expression on her face. Great, she was scaring Trance.

"Um…" the girl stammered, "if that's… if that's not what you wanted to… to talk about, then what?"

"Oh." Beka collected her thoughts again. "Right. Well, it's Tyr. I'm kinda afraid that he's… Okay, I know he's sincere about…" She stopped again. "I started you telling you that things have been a little on edge since you and Harper came. The rest of my crew thinks you two're making me soft, and I don't have to tell you how dangerous that is. Well, of course Tyr's noticed, and of course he's sworn as always to…" she chuckled. "Uphold my honor and all the rest."

"But…?" Trance supplied.

"But if there's ever been the perfect time for him to try and take things over, this is it. I mean, he hasn't exactly made it a secret that he has certain ambitions, and it doesn't take a genius to see that this could be the perfect vessel for advancing his agenda." She picked at her muffin and sighed again. That wasn't even all of it.

Apparently, Trance picked up on what she had left unsaid. "And?"

Beka looked up from her breakfast. "And what? Isn't that enough? I'm afraid my first officer slash bodyguard slash boyfriend is thinking of betraying and probably killing me in his quest for galactic dominion." Ease up on the defensive, she thought. She had no reason to doubt Tyr and me.

But she had her head tilted and was smiling a little quizzically. "And?"

Beka made an exasperated noise and threw her hands up. "And… that's it!" Trance just continued looking at her like that, amused and annoyingly indulgent. She looked like a teacher confronted with a young child's wild flights of fancy and wide-eyed innocence, making up excuses for something mildly naughty but not really destructive.

"Fine!" she cried in defeat, burying her head in her hands and getting muffin crumbs in her hair as her elbow jostled her tea. "Privacy mode." Though the ship did not have a fully-functioning AI, Harper had fixed up a primitive automated response system. The computer replied that privacy mode had been engaged, and Beka settled in to tell Trance a story.

-o-

After several long minutes, Beka finished her monologue and swallowed the rest of her tea in one gulp.

"So you're afraid that you're falling in love with him?"

Finally, someone had said it aloud. It had been scary, opening up like that, but it was a relief. Beka nodded.

"But you don't want him to know."

"Right again."

"So… you're pretending that you're not in love him, pretending that you are."

"It's exhausting."

Trance looked thoughtful. "But you're still determined to stay here."

"We went over this already. I have to." She tried to think of a way to restate her position in a way Trance might understand better, but her wrist unit beeped at her, startling her out of her reverie. "Dammit, I have to go." She pushed herself to her feet and gave the girl a smile. "Thanks for listening. And for not giving advice. Believe me, I get enough of that from everyone else on this boat."


	8. Chapter 8

**iilex – **Thanks so much! Those little touches are so much fun to throw in. Nice to hear you're enjoying them!

-o-

She entered Command in a curiously light mood, having solved none of her troubles. "What news?" she inquired loudly. "Has the universe finally reversed its expansion and begun contracting upon itself? Flying Spaghetti Monster returned to lay its noodly appendages upon us? Drago-Kazov passed a surprise referendum to rename their homeworld Fuzzy Daisy Hug-Share Place?"

Harper laughed from where he was working under a console and bumped his head violently. Tyr smiled too, though at which one of them, she could not say. Fertrun was there too, looking just as stony as when she and Tyr had passed him earlier. Well, 'Fuzzy Daisy Hug-Share Place' might have evoked an amused twitch of his lips, but it could just as easily have been a tic of murderous anger.

"If you can believe it," Tyr responded, "the wedding's been called off."

For the second time that day, Beka was speechless. Then a wide smile spread across her face, and she had to forcibly restrain herself from jumping with delight. She coughed and cleared her throat, but the smile would not go away. "_The _wedding? Social event of the season? Just as well. It seems our invitation was lost in the mail."

Fertrun grunted. Beka wondered how the man could remain unaware of Tyr's narrow-eyed gaze burrowing into the back of his head. A big, smoking hole should have showed from his mess of iron gray hair.

"The Arch Duke had the strangest notion that his bride to be was planning a most unpleasant after-dinner performance. Upon ransacking the Sabra Ministerial Palace, he discovered a few interesting toys in his lady's most secret of chambers, including a pocket nuclear device."

Beka had to bite her lips to keep from exclaiming aloud. She had been right, after all? Well, on the right track. A pocket nuke would not render a star system uninhabitable, but it would wreak hell on Charlemagne's landscaped gardens.

"You'll hardly be surprised to hear," Tyr continued, "that Charlemagne has ordered Elsbett Mossadim's immediate capture and attached a significant reward to her return. The fleets are already clashing in three systems."

"Amazing how that worked out. Just when we were due for another assassination attempt, Charlemagne is unavoidably detained by a war which will doubtless hold his attention for the next few years."

She hoped Fertrun and any other mutinous crewmates of hers were paying attention. Tyr spared a moment to give her a slow smile that warmed her even more than his news had. One of the major threats to her life was tied up for at least a couple of years, possibly a decade or more, but she was decidedly infatuated with Tyr Anasazi. Crap.

Six of one, half a dozen of the other, the old saying went. Her crew knew she had been instrumental in manipulating events surrounding Charlemagne's aborted wedding, even if she had never divulged precisely how that had that had come about. The subterranean rumbles she had been hearing ceased as the Sabra and Jaguar prides withdrew into their conflict, ignoring their ambitions – especially as the Jaguar were concerned – about encroaching on Darjella's territory and paying little attention to minor incursions Beka made into their spheres of influence. The last thing either of them needed right now was an enemy at another front.

But now that she had admitted her deepest fears to Trance, Beka could not shove them into the back of her mind anymore and hope they would stay put. No, she had acknowledged them now, and there was no taking it back. Tyr had must have noticed when she became tense around him and did not confide as forthrightly as she once had, but he said nothing. It was hard, suspecting him constantly when she would have liked nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his broad chest and forget about everything outside her quarters, just for a little bit.

If only Tyr was as easy to predict as her more openly mutinous bodyguards like Fertrun. All she had to do was convince them that they were positioned to benefit more from her leadership that without it, and radically shifting the short-term political structure of the Known Worlds sufficed to show them the error of making her an enemy. But she and Tyr had been a team for as long as they had known one another, a team to the exclusion of just about everyone else. He knew things about her no one else did, and she thought she might know a secret or two of his. He knew just how much she depended on him; the real problem was that she didn't think he was nearly so dependent on her.

A few days after Darjella sent a cryptic message congratulating her on her success – the little birds were singing beautifully, she said – a private message arrived for Beka from a courier service renowned for their persistence and discretion. She routed it to her quarters, activated privacy mode, and stared in disbelief when a hologram of Charlemagne Bolivar appeared, lounging on a little fainting couch.

"Captain Valentine," he said in a disturbingly friendly tone, "please allow me to prostrate myself at your feet. Figuratively speaking, of course." He plucked a grape from a bowl and popped it into his mouth. "My physicians warn me that prostration is bad for the spine. Apparently, Sabra First Daughters can be quite dangerous to one's health as well, as you've certainly heard by now.

"Surely you understand how interested I am in tracing the source of the information which led my intelligence network to discover the Sabra plot. I am deeply indebted to whoever that should be and very interested in pursuing a further relationship, nothing but amiable and mutually beneficial, of course. So far, the winding paths of inquiry have led me to your illustrious employer but no further, and I have a hard time believing that the information dropped directly from the starry heavens into her delicate ear.

"I'm convinced that you could be of use to me in this matter, and please believe that I am willing to compensate you generously for your time. In the meantime, consider all mentions of any enmity between Pride Jaguar and your syndicate permanently sealed and off record. I would be happy to offer you a more durable sign of friendship, but I completely understand reluctance on your part to commit to either half of this little snit."

Beka emerged from her en suite bathroom – it seemed strange to call such a luxurious place, with porcelain and silver fixtures and multiple showerheads 'the head' – wrapped in a huge, fluffy towel, to find Tyr in silky pajama pants watching Charlemagne's message. He snorted in amusement and turned to Beka when it ended. "We have better things to do with our evening," he rumbled, "so allow me to distill this discussion to the essential points. You don't really wish to speak with the Arch Duke, but you're determined to hear what he has to say. For my part, I simply don't wish you to speak with the Arch Duke. But as I said, you're determined, and as you are not employed as your bodyguard, I understand that this meeting may be an appropriate action for you."

She blinked. "Right. Glad we got that figured out. So… I'm going, but neither of us likes it. Does this mean you aren't going to try to talk me out of it?" It would be the perfect time for him to take over the ship, a niggling little voice whispered.

"Well…" he said slowly, "I don't think I can promise that you will not hear a single derogatory word concerning the Arch Duke slip from my tongue."

Beka smiled. "Hell, I couldn't make that promise." She walked toward her dresser and began fishing pajamas from a drawer: shorts and a tank top, nothing fancy. "So," she began as she pulled on her night clothes, "what do you think he wants?" It was easier to undress around him if she were talking about something and looking in a different direction – and easier to ignore the figure he cut in that clinging fabric.

"It's hard to say. If he were anyone else, I would suggest that he was plotting one of two things, an assassination for meddling in his affairs and making him a laughingstock, or a plea upon bended knee that you never turn your formidable talents against him."

That was enough time for Beka to dress, and she was so accustomed to him that it hardly crossed her mind that her lack of underwear under her tank top was obvious. She had forced herself not to think about it when it became clear that he wasn't. "But he's not anyone else." She ran a comb through her damp hair and patted it dry with the towel flung on the dresser. "It's something more complicated, I know it."

"For all I know, he might ask you to take Elsbett's place," Tyr said with a shrug. "He must have spent months planning the ceremony."

Beka laughed. "He already rented the place, hired the DJ… might as well have a party, huh?"

She slid into the wide bed and watched as Tyr disappeared into the head. They had been sleeping together for months now, chaste every single night. It was necessary for their charade, of course, but she wished she could have thought of another sleeping arrangement. If he noticed that she had begun taking cold showers in the morning, he had not mentioned it.

It was quite a spacious bed, so at least she was rarely tormented with actual physical contact. But just breathing the air around him amounted to agony, sometimes – musk, a hint of clean perspiration, his expensive amber soap… it mingled together in a tantalizing bouquet seemingly unaffected by the Path's ventilation system. Her only consolation was that while Tyr possessed a strength of self-control she could barely imagine, he also possessed senses much more keener than hers. She liked to think that she tortured him as much as he tortured her.

"And then what?" she continued when he returned. "I can't imagine you and Charlemagne getting along, so you're out of a job, but the Path is yours. Win-win."

Tyr joined her bed, regarding her gravely. "I can see how I benefit from such an arrangement, as well as Bolivar, but I fear you would stand to lose. You would be a freak, a curiosity, a whim of the Arch Duke's to be pitied when he lost interest."

"I can always count on you to find the silver lining, can't I? Well, you're right. There's no guarantee he wouldn't forget one day about not wanting to assassinate me."

They stayed up for awhile reading, for all the world like an old married couple, except for the excess distance between them. Or maybe that was characteristic of old married couples as well. As usual, Beka tried to sneak a peek at Tyr's book, and as usual, she could not read the language. The book itself was an anachronism; she was sure the language was just as dead. Sometimes she pestered him to translate a bit of it aloud for her but decided to forego that tonight.

As Beka felt her eyelids beginning to grow heavy, Tyr set his book aside and turned to look at her with that solemn expression. "Rebecca…" he said slowly, and Beka knew she was in for something serious. He only called her by her first name when he had something difficult to say, she had noticed. She wondered if he had noticed.

"We both know that I have certain far-reaching plans, and I have no doubt that it has occurred to you that this ship could advance my agenda. In fact," he continued with a wry half-smile, "I've noticed it occurring to you recently."

Beka felt the blood rising to her face and refused to feel silly for what were obviously very reasonable suspicions on her part. No, it wasn't that she felt silly. She just didn't want to talk about it, and the current setting made it even more awkward. What kind of people discussed mutiny and betrayal – of one another, especially – in bed?

"It's hardly paranoid of you to worry, but…" For once, Beka thought Tyr was at a genuine loss for words. If only there was some way to record this moment for posterity, she thought dryly. "Either I will betray you, or I will not. Until I do, I have sworn to protect you to the best of my ability."

It was sweet, in a way. Beka sighed and dropped her gaze for a moment to rest on the flexi sitting ignored on her lap. Something rustled, and when she glanced to one side, she saw Tyr's hand outstretched toward her. Tentatively, she took it, looking up as she did and trying to read the expression on his face. The muscles lay smooth, but his eyes were intent on her. Dammit, he should not be doing this to her. Mixed signals bombarded her from all sides.

When he continued in a velvet-soft whisper, Beka shivered. She could almost feel the brush of his voice across her bare skin. "If I should betray you, remember this." He slid closer to her, investing his usual feline grace into the movement, and raised her hand to rest on his chest, just over his heart. It thudded slowly, regularly.

"It is a baseless human fallacy," he murmured, more to himself than to her, "but I believe the metaphor is fitting." He returned his attention to her and tightened his grip. "Rebecca, from that day, I will bear a scar that neither time nor distance shall soothe. But I have a greater duty to my people, which I hope to elucidate for you one day."

Once again, she found herself faced with two possible emotional responses to the situation. She could melt like she wanted, drown in his deep dark eyes and hope that day never came. Or she could show him her thorns. She could get angry and throw up a wall, so that if that day came, it might sting a little less. When she thought about it, it wasn't much of a choice.

She narrowed her eyes and tried to pull her hand away, but he held her firmly. "Right, you'll be just devastated when you order me off the ship immediately _or else_. That'll be a great comfort when I'm the laughingstock of everyone who's ever heard my name, unemployed and forevermore running from anyone with a grudge against Darjella." As she finished her rant, she jerked her hand, but still he held it fast.

To her surprise and growing irritation, he smiled at this display of temper. "My dear lady, I don't expect you to make it easy for me. If I should die in the attempt, I would consider it a magnificent way to leave this existence. Do you think you would mean so much to me if I could reduce you to tears with a few pretty words?"

But she was in no mood to be cajoled. She rejected the idea of struggling any further; the last thing she needed right now was to embarrass both of them by demonstrating just how much stronger he was. "Do I mean so much that you would delay these plans of yours by a single second? Look, I'm not trying to difficult," Okay, that might not be entirely true, "I just…"

Some of the anger drained out of her voice, leaving her tired. She slumped against the headboard, close enough to him to feel the heat he radiated. "I just don't understand why you're telling me this."

With his free hand, Tyr gently tilted her chin up until she met his eyes. "On very rare occasion, our unidentified alien medic utters something of interest. She has led me to contemplate futures wherein I've not told you this, and I find the possibility… disturbing. In the greater scheme of things, it matters so little, and if anyone deserves such reassurances, useless as they are, you do."

The head tilt combined with that soulful gaze should have been registered as a lethal weapon. She relented. "Fine. I mean… thank you. But, just so we're clear, you wouldn't hesitate?"

He gave her a long, considering look, and in the end, he did not answer. It was not the affirmation she had expected, and that bewildered her more than anything he had said. Instead, he kissed her, softly but quite soundly, for what felt like an eternity of thundering heartbeats.

When she finally pulled away with a deep, shuddering inhalation of breath, he murmured into her damp hair something that sounded like a quotation. "Never have mortals set mortal eyes upon these stygian flames resplendent, aureate damnation."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Oh noes! I noticed when I went to upload this chapter that the previous chapter was sitting here, just waiting to be posted! So you get two chapters at once. Yay for my forgetfulness?  
**

-o-

Beka froze inside the airlock, gazing outside. As the Path had docked, she'd had a moment to take in her surroundings. Businesses rarely bothered to decorate their hangar decks with much more than simply painted hull plating, if that. With the constant stress of pressurization and vacuum, any efforts at ornamentation would not be worth the constant need for maintenance.

But Club Kublahn _had_ invested in much more: holographic projectors behind thick glass gave an illusion of a sea port for its arriving and departing guests. She had just enough time to see the Path appear to descend among gently lapping waves before Charlemagne came strolling toward her, stepping carelessly on the sea and ignoring the projected piers.

And she froze, much to her chagrin. Here was the man who had tried to kill her more times than any other individual, smiling beneficently. Dammit if did not truly look happy to see her. The thought came to her in a flash that there must be something deeply wrong with someone who could smile so brightly at a person he had wanted dead for months. Beside her, Tyr said nothing but let his hand come to rest gently on her lower back. She turned her head to give him a wry grin and looked ahead again, back at the Jaguar Arch Duke. He had probably chosen to walk on the holographic sea for effect, a little joke about walking on water.

The airlock opened with a loud hiss, revealing a perfectly composed couple, watching the approaching party wit matching expressions of very mild interest. A huge, stately Umbrite led the way, followed by Charlemagne and a man she took for his bodyguard. The Umbrite gave Beka and Tyr a small, stiff bow. In a voice like breaking rocks, he bade them welcome to his establishment and assured them that their privacy was his utmost concern.

"I have no doubt it is," Beka replied coldly. People like Charlemagne and Darjella could afford to be charming with strangers, but Beka had found that people took her more seriously when she affected this haughty attitude. And if she were completely honest, she would have to admit that she could not help thinking of herself as a plain ol' freighter captain again when she tried to charm people.

"Yes," Charlemagne added in a jovial tone, "now that we're all utterly convinced of your discretion, shall we adjourn to a more pleasant setting? Not that the docks aren't… quaint." Beka glanced down to see that she too was standing on the azure waves, so realistic she almost felt the ground lurch underfoot.

In a gesture she had been fearing for no reason she could quite articulate, the Arch Duke offered her his arm. It occurred to her that perhaps she had not fully appreciated the solid security of Tyr's arm when it was available. She would have much preferred it right now.

As soon as her fingers touched Charlemagne's silk-sheathed wrist, he turned to face Tyr with the innocent, surprised expression of one who had just discovered one's social _faux_ _pas_. "That is, of course, if Mr. Anasazi does not object." His humble tone fooled nobody, but if she had not known him – and if the very idea of asking a man if he could touch her had not irked her – Beka thought she might have been taken in. Even as he spoke, ostensibly asking Tyr's permission, he covered her hand with his own, warm and soft. And strong underneath that cultivated softness.

She wished she could see Tyr's face as he answered, though she knew it would give away nothing. "I'm sure she's perfectly safe," he rumbled. It could have meant anything.

"I'm so glad we agree." With that, Charlemagne dismissed Tyr to begin a steady stream of small talk with Beka which lasted until they reached their destination, an opulent lounge bathed in a buttery yellow glow by real candles, dimly reflected off leather furniture and polished wood. Also doubtless real.

It came as a bitter disappointment that the touch of Charlemagne's flesh did not make her skin crawl and worse, that he was pretty funny. As Beka was trying to horn in on outlying Jaguar spheres of influence, they knew some of the same people, and Charlemagne did some startlingly accurate impressions of their mutual acquaintances.

"But I'm telling you" he growled, as Ghimphoten, a Nightsider with an unfortunate penchant for leather, "the swamps must be preserved at all costs! I have beautiful memories of eating my brothers and sisters there to rise to the top of this miserable dung heap. It was the only time in my life I was happy!" He grimaced and twitched his eyelid and audibly ground his teeth.

Beka was turning red from the effort of not laughing explosively when the maître d' bowed them to the chairs. She was sure that Charlemagne knew just how hilarious he was, and his knowing smile as he watched her coolly accept the Umbrite's direction confirmed it.

"If you ever tire of plotting murder and abortive weddings, you might try a comedy tour," she commented as casually as she could, trying not to picture Ghimphoten grimacing and twitching just as Charlemagne had. "I'm sure the kludges would love it."

A shadow, dancing fitfully in the candlelight, fell over them. That smug grin never left Charlemagne's lips as he tilted his head up to look at Tyr, arms crossed and legs planted in the hand-woven Makra carpet. He might as well have been carved there for all his apparent intention to move.

"Relieved as I am that you did not visibly attempt assassinate Captain Valentine during your stroll, I'm afraid we've reached the limit of just how far I trust you, as I believe this marks the boundary of how far I could throw you." He must have practiced folding his arms like that in front of a mirror, Beka thought, to achieve maximum bicep exposure.

"Tyr Anasazi, you do yourself too little credit. With the proper persuasion, I'm sure you could heave me fully to that far hull." As if to give an example of such persuasion, he stretched out an arm to rest it on Beka's shoulder. He would just laugh if she shuddered, so she bore it stoically.

"Besides, we both know I would not leave this compartment alive if I laid a hostile finger upon the captain." He squeezed Beka's shoulder lightly, in what would have been a friendly gesture coming from almost anyone else.

Tyr raised a questioning eyebrow at Beka, who answered with a minute shrug. He returned his gaze to Charlemagne. His mouth tightened briefly, but he left to sit in a chair at the opposite end of the lounge from Charlemagne's guard.

"In case you're wondering," he said airily to Beka, "your devoted first officer will not be able to hear us converse. Club Kublahn is equipped with sound dampeners that prevent conversation from being overheard from a distance of more than a meter or so. I'm sure he'd like to lip-read from his position, but our host has also installed… strategic shadow projectors, we might say, to combat that possibility." So that was why the shadows hung so heavy on this place.

Beka glanced at his hand and then up at him with a trace of a sweet smile. "In that case, he doesn't have to hear or see me request that you take your hand off me before I feed it to you in a highly unconventional fashion."

"Charming," he chuckled as he set his hand on the armrest. "If I had ever bothered to take the time to meet you, perhaps I would not have sent those incompetent blunderers after you." He cocked his head thoughtfully. "Or if I had been really determined, I would have spent quite a lot more money. Good assassins are so hard to come by. You took the best out of the field, you know."

He crossed his legs and adjusted himself so that he was facing Beka little more directly. His gaze settled on her, and Beka was shocked to discover how much it felt like Tyr's, never mind the differences between the two men. It must be a Nietzschean thing, either inherent in the gene code or taught from birth, the science of unsettling stares. Fortunately, she was used to Tyr's dark, penetrating eyes and returned the look easily enough.

From personal experience on both sides of the fence, she knew that a common tactic of intimidation was for the intimidator to sit and stare at the intended target until the target became so uncomfortable that they started chattering just to cut the silence. What they said when they chattered could be very interesting, but sometimes it was enough to establish a vaguely menacing atmosphere. She would have wagered money that Charlemagne was attempting to intimidate her in just this way into saying something, thereby setting the mood of the entire meeting. Having successfully applied this tactic in negotiations and meetings of her own, Beka was not about to fall for it.

She gazed steadily back and him and let her mind wander. The Ne'Holland situation was becoming unstable again; if the king and his lackeys could not secure the planet, she might have to consider quietly throwing her support to the five barons. Darjella was insistent about keeping a hand in Ne'Holland politics, and she was right to do so. The planet was located at a major slipstream nexus, used by Darjella's friends and enemies alike. Aristocracy or monarchy, personally she did not care much if one or a handful of people ruled over the people of Ne'Holland.

"In more than one way, rumor would have it," Charlemagne said suddenly. Beka blinked and tried to remember what he had said before this. Oh right, taking Tyr out of the field. Having failed to intimidate her, Charlemagne was probably going to subtly interrogate her now, and gossip was always a good place to start.

"It's a clever idea," he continued, "the sort of long-term image building people don't go in for much anymore." Beka maintained her neutral expression, but inside she was roiling with surprise. A clever _idea?_ Had he seen through their façade after watching the two of them for so little time? It had occurred her more than once that their pretense at a relationship was useless; that it should be so transparent at well worried her.

"If I didn't so much want it to be a ploy, I wouldn't have seen through your charade. You're lucky that most people will want to see it, either because the romanticism of the whole thing secretly delights them or because they want to believe that one or both of you is truly so foolish. Mostly the latter."

He shook his head, wearing a look of open admiration. "Do you have any idea how many people would love to know that you two aren't actually viewing the universe through a rose-colored haze? I promise you, the assassins and negotiators would become much more expensive, and you would become much more interesting to certain parties."

If he was expecting her to say something, either affirming or denying what he was, he was disappointed. Beka kept her mouth shut, aware that he would doubtless read the truth after a few words, no matter what she said. She hoped that he was telling the truth about "most people", at least. Maybe that pretense was not so useless after all.

After a few silent seconds, he continued speaking. "I myself have constantly maintained a particular persona for years now, and I like to think I've been successful. Ask anyone on the proverbial street what he thinks of the Arch Duke Charlemagne Bolivar of Pride Jaguar, and if he has any idea at all who I am, it will be quite unflattering.

"Of course," he sighed, "this business with Elsbett has complicated the matter of my reputation. I can hardly allow her to live to fight another day, but if I'm seen being cruel and clever in this affair, I'll have wasted years of effort perfecting my milquetoast façade. Most of the people who believe me to be one or the either end up dying very quietly, which you refuse to do. You're doubly dangerous to me, Captain, and it's absolutely thrilling. I swear to you, I get chills just thinking about what we could accomplish together."

Ah, this was her cue to actively join in the conversation. "Yes," she replied dryly, "the power of our combined mythomanias could bring the Known Worlds to its knees." She widened her eyes dramatically and waggled wide-spread fingers in a gesture of mock warning. "No one will ever know again if A really is A."

This elicited what sounded like a genuine laugh from her companion. "And she's well read! Captain, you are a dream come true. And you're perfectly right." He leaned in close and lowered his voice to a murmur. After what he had claimed about the club's anti-eavesdropping features, Beka was certain this posture was mere theatrics.

"Please indulge me, my good Captain." The idle thought struck Beka that along with unsettling stares, Nietzcheans must also learn from infancy the art of the velvet whisper. "What will the people see? A frilly fop of a Nietzschean and an Uber-mad human, serving her crime lord faithfully and without any apparent chance for promotion. I couldn't keep a proper Nietzschean mate, and you could not keep your dignified Kodiak lover. So we settle. Snickers all around."

Beka could picture what he described and what would follow. While they were universally mocked, Pride Jaguar and Darjella's syndicate would quietly join resources and influence to exert serious control over a good fourth of Triangulum and moderate sway over important events much further. If there was some possible way to retain Tyr's goodwill – or at least extract a promise of neutrality – they could reach a level of power, both soft and hard, enjoyed by very few others: the Matriarch and Alpha of the Drago-Kazov Pride, Darjella herself, the Than Overdiamond.

But alliances between Nietzschean and non-Nietzschean, especially human, collectives were historically unstable and short-lived. The Nietzscheans either became jealous of their allies or contemptuous, while the allies tended toward arrogance or paranoia. It got bloody after that. Even the great Systems Commonwealth had not proved immune to this law of history.

Her lips twisted into something halfway between a smile and a sneer. "Right, and they'll laugh even harder the day of your sudden but inevitable betrayal. Ha ha." She cursed mentally as soon as the words left her mouth. Where she had meant to sound sarcastic, a trace of bitterness had tainted the effect.

Charlemagne raised an eyebrow and glanced to where Tyr sat, a hulking silhouette in the artificial shadows. That infuriating, knowing smile crept across his face. "Oh, I see. Betray you once, shame on me, betray you twice, et cetera. He hasn't, but you both think he will. He isn't looking forward to it any more than you are, is he? Why, I wouldn't be surprised if your Kodiak was actually harboring regret over what he must view as his role as savior of his race." When he chuckled, Beka tightened her hand around the armrest to keep herself from slapping him. "How charmingly star-crossed."

It was a great effort to force a convincing yawn, but Beka managed. "If you wanted to indulge in gossip, you should have warned me. I would have brought ice cream and nail polish and hair brushes, so we could properly dish. Have you heard the rumors out of Mobius? The ruler is supposed to an utterly mad architect, keeping himself alive by growing clones and harvesting the organs. Makes you wonder what all's working, you know?" She waggled her eyebrows and grinned. "Wonder if there's a Mrs. Mad Architect or if he goes for the classic harem."

"Fine," Charlemagne replied. "You win. We'll leave Anasazi out of this."

Beka smiled tightly. "Glad to hear it."

"After one last observation." He took her hand. "Just a minute, please." He turned her hand in his so his thumb rested on the inside of her wrist. As he spoke, his thumb moved in slow, soft circles over the fragile flesh. Bastard.

"I find that the very best lies are rooted in truth, Captain. If you should agree to my proposal, I would by no means fail to show you the affection and passion you both deserve and could so easily inspire in the greatest of men."

Dammit. After Tyr's sincere confession of his mingled certainty that he would betray her and his reluctance to do so, this flattering prose felt so damn good. It was fluff, sweet and lighter than air and worth a lot less, but the only times men had ever spoken to her like that were in the feverish adolescent fantasies fueled by bad holonovels. Irrational anger flared up, and Beka had to work hard to tamp it down before she answered. The last thing she needed was for Charlemagne to know he was getting under her skin.

"Let me get this straight," she said lightly. "In addition to building an alliance which probably won't last the year, I'm supposed to transfer my fictional affections to you? To be honest, I like to think my persona has better taste than that."

Charlemagne disengaged his hand from hers and leaned back into his chair, lean and graceful under his silks. The tender expression was gone, replaced by his habitual smirk. "It wounds me to contradict you, Captain, but I feel I must. Surely you are aware that neither of us suffers from the usual character flaws which make such alliances so fragile." The smirk widened. "As for the matter of your taste, I agree completely, but I flatter myself that your affections will not be entirely false once you've come to know me."

Beka shook her head. It was not a display of disagreement as much as an attempt to clear her head. This was all becoming a little too surreal. She kept silent for a moment, organizing her thoughts, before she replied. "This is all very slick, but I don't see why the sham romance is necessary. If you'd like to _try_," she emphasized the word, "building some sort of business relationship, I… suppose I might be open to the suggestion. But this whole charade strikes me as a little ridiculous." For now, she added silently, but there was no need to concede that aloud.

The smirk faded almost completely as Charlemagne nodded slowly. "Perhaps a gradual beginning is more appropriate. We shall have ample opportunity to hone our strategy." He sat up straight and held out his hand, somehow appearing smug and questioning at the same time.

Beka heaved a sigh and wrapped her fingers firmly around his outstretched hand. They shook, and to Charlemagne's credit, he did not attempt to squash her fingers in a last effort at intimidation. In fact, he possessed a depressingly excellent handshake. Maybe he would prove more useful as a friend than as an enemy after all.


	10. Chapter 10

**B.L.A the Mouse –** Yay two reviews! The "What kind of people…" quote is as original as far as I can remember. As for the others, I _try_ not to litter my stories with too much pop culture references, but sometimes it's just too tempting. I'm glad you enjoyed them! Many thanks for your heartwarming reviews.

-o-

Trance twisted her tail in her hands and dug her toe into the deck, all the while refusing to meet Tyr's eyes. He stood with his arms crossed, watching her with a mildly curious expression before breaking the silence.

"You may have the others on board fooled, but I know very well that you are not as innocent as all that."

Her tail dropped from her hands and seemed to float in the air with the boneless grace of a hypnotized cobra. Her expression became thoughtful as she tilted her head to regard him. "We-e-e-e-ll," she said slowly, "if I'm really not, maybe I'm not so harmless either?" And maybe, her tone suggested, this entire exercise is pointless and I can go look after my plants?

Tyr laughed, a booming noise that echoed across the gym. Trance's eyes popped in surprise. "Maybe you're not. Still, it never hurts to develop one's capacities. You'll still have eyelashes to flutter at the little professor and anyone who dares cross your path."

The light reflected strangely in Trance's eyes for a moment as she listened to Tyr, but the illusion of stars shining from them dissolved in an instant when she dropped her eyes again. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and sighed. "Well, I guess it might be fun."

"I'm honored you think so," Tyr replied dryly. "First, you must choose a kiya, a noise to focus your energy and intimidate your opponent." He began circling her slowly, taking in her posture, her shape, her stance. Her head turned to watch him until it could turn no further, and then she returned her gaze to the floor.

"Um… okay, I got one."

Tyr came to rest in front of her, arms crossed. His eyebrows were raised in an expression of mild skepticism, and amusement tinged his voice when he spoke. "You're going to focus your energy and intimidate your opponent?"

She rubbed a hand along her arm. "Yeah, I guess."

Tyr uncrossed his arms and held his hands out. "Then intimidate me."

"Hee…" Her voice trailed off and she swallowed. "Hee-haw?"

"It isn't a question."

Trance nodded firmly and squared her shoulders. She raised her head, widened her eyes dramatically, and clenched her fists. "Hee-HAW!" she shouted and, to Tyr's amazement, rushed at him with upraised fists.

He caught her fists easily in his hand and almost tripped as she twisted in his grasp. She looked up at him, panting. "How was that?"

"I was certainly surprised," Tyr said levelly. "And I imagine surprise is a key weapon of yours." Then he fell silent, continuing to study her closely. "Normally I would set you through a series of drills, the most basic motions of self-defense which would eventually become instinctual."

"But…?"

Instead of answering, Tyr let out a brief "Ha!", a sharp exhalation of breath. He lunged to grab Trance's upper arms and grunted as Trance rammed her head hard into his chest. His breath stuttered for a moment, and while he tried to right himself, the girl's tail wrapped insidiously around his knee and sent him crashing to the deck when he attempted to move.

Another bout of laughter burst from him as he lay on the deck. "You'll notice," he said between deep rumbling chuckles, "that I fell in such a way as to minimize damage to myself. _Very_ surprising."

After a moment, he pulled himself up and took a deep breath, testing his lungs. He was smiling when he looked at Trance again, who was staring at him with wide, surprised eyes. "As I suspected, you've developed a rough instinct for self-defense. Well, far be it from me to undo the lessons of the universe."

He attacked her several more times, always from different angles and with different intent, memorizing the movements she favored and the weak spots in her defense. Somehow, the conversation drifted away from mostly one-sided instruction as Trance became comfortable with the exercise and began asking questions.

"Is this good?"

"Oh, what did you do there?"

"Why did you do that?"

"Is hee-haw really okay?"

"How did you _know_ I was going to do that?"

"Did you talk to Beka about what we talked about?"

Tyr paused in the midst of showing Trance a flip she could use on people much larger than her. "If you can correctly perform this maneuver, I'll tell you."

She did not execute the movement quite as Tyr had demonstrated, but he did end up back on the deck. Her tail had flicked between them just as Trance's stance had faltered, and Tyr barely had time to position himself so that he fell heavily without hurting spine.

"You told me I have to be adaptable," she replied innocently to the unspoken question in his raised eyebrow.

He relented. "I did, and you were. Yes, I discussed the matter with her."

Now it was her turn to study him closely. She sighed and said, "It didn't help any, though. You still…" Her voice trailed off. "I guess you can't help it. She's still gonna leave, isn't she?"

Tyr had paused before, but now he froze in place as he readied to correct Trance's stance during the flip. His eyes widened fractionally when they met hers. "Leave?"

Trance leaned forward and grabbed his hand nearest to her. "You can't let her go, Tyr. How can you not see that?" Her voice was rising, sharp with panic during the final few words.

"I cannot and will not hold her here by force or deception." His voice was calm as he spoke, and he did not attempt to escape Trance's grasp. He had shown surprise earlier in the conversation, but now they might have been discussing the merits of lemon versus cherry scones over tea for all the emotion he displayed.

Her grip tightened until her knuckles turned white. "This is bigger than you," she whispered, tears beginning to gather in her brown eyes open to their widest. "Bigger than…" She took a deep breath and jerked Tyr's hand as hard as she could, twisted exactly as he had shown her, and sent him sprawling to the deck. His head bounced on the pads installed on this section of the gym.

He blinked a couple of times and then stared at her. "If you might deign to be a little clearer, perhaps we could discuss this like rational people."

"But it's _not_ clear or rational!" She hiccoughed and suddenly seemed to shrink, wrapped her arms around herself and dropped her chin to her chest. "Thanks, Tyr. Um, for the…" She gestured with her hands, drawing a circle with her fingers. "It was fun." She attempted a wavering smile. "Sorry, I have to go check on Walter."

With that, she bolted from the room. Just as she reached the threshold, Fertrun Nav disappeared down an adjoining corridor, smiling softly to himself.

-o-

Beka slammed the cabinet door closed and whirled around to face her crewman. "I am _not_ going to listen to you tattle on your crewmates. I understand that you've never liked Harper or Trance, and that's fine. I don't give a Nightsider's ass whether you like Trance, but you are not going to cut her down to me behind her back." She paused to draw breath and make a disgusted sound in her throat. "And I can't believe you'd be stupid enough to slander Tyr like that."

She turned back, frustrated on top of all this that she had forgotten what she had wanted from the cupboard. Reaching in at random, she pulled out a packet of stirla fish packed in honey and sighed. Stirla fish were extinct and surviving packets sold for staggering amounts of credit, not because they tasted pleasant or contained any nutritional value. Heat from a moderately hot oven activated a chemical in the fish which made it glitter dark violet. She put it back in the cabinet and made a mental note to try the trick another day.

"Captain," Fertrun protested stiffly, "their conversation sounded distinctly threatening to your person. 'You can't let her go', Trance said. Are you going to ignore this because you are too stupid to see how dangerous she is or because you've grown weak in your fondness for the pair?"

Beka's hands tightened into fists, and her short nails pressed into her palm. She spun again and stalked toward Fertrun, forcing herself to breathe slowly. "You've always been welcome to leave any time you like, but maybe I need to make this clearer for you." In spite of his greater size, she backed him up the hull. When he stopped with a thud, Beka pulled her gauss gun from her belt – she always wore it on her, never expecting to use in on board the Path – and pushed its nose into the man's chest.

"You don't give a damn about any mutiny, and I have yet to see any evidence that anyone on board is plotting one. You think I haven't noticed the turnaround in your attitude since I spoke with Charlemagne? Your loyalties change more often than your underwear, and I am sick of it. Men like you are much more dangerous to a crew than either Tyr or Trance. From now on, I'm going to consider you a threat to crew safety, and I will act accordingly. Get out."

The man's face had grown redder and redder as she spoke, and blood vessels pounded at his temple. His lips pulled back into a snarl, but he did not argue. When Beka had finished speaking, he turned on his heel, knocking her arm with a burly shoulder, and marched out of the mess. She realized that the only means available for his departure at the moment were the Maru and a few slipfighters, and there was no way in hell he was making off with her baby. Slipfighters were hardly designed for long range travel, but he would survive.

It occurred to her that she might be better off shooting him out of the sky instead of allowing him to leave, already formulating vengeful plots as he must be. Or perhaps intercepting him as he climbed into the slipfighter, when he would be the most vulnerable. It would be self-defense, she told herself, pre-emptive self-defense. "Never leave a live enemy behind," the saying went, and she knew from experience as a live enemy left behind, that they could be fatal.

But suddenly she had a vision of meeting Trance while she made her stealthy ways down the Path's corridors. Her mouth dried, and her grip on the gauss gun tightened. She licked her lips and cursed under her breath. Maybe Fertrun was right about one thing. Maybe the girl was making her weak. She could not afford lapses of judgment like these, not during the middle of negotiations with the FTA bureaucrat she was culturing for a double agent.

A chair sat bolted to the deck just a few feet away, and Beka fell into it with a sigh. She absent-mindedly checked the safety on the gun before hurling it to the ground with a loud invective. Arms crossed, she glared at the weapon for a moment, and then she realized she was pouting like a child. The gun returned to her belt, and she remembered that she had been searching for a cup of yogurt, which would not be found anywhere in that particular cabinet.

She would not tell Tyr what had happened, and he would not scold her for letting Fertrun go. But she would remember.


	11. Chapter 11

**B.L.A the Mouse – **Oh, that quote! "Never have mortals…", right? I made that one up too (again, as far as I know). I tried my darndest to make it sound like a real quote, vaguely Milton…ian or Shakespearian.

-o-

It seemed to Beka that the next couple of weeks did not pass in a smooth, linear progression but a jagged heap of moments that glared sun bright in her memory. Of course time passed between those moments at the same pace it had always passed; she ate and slept and stared off into space during her shifts on Command. But she never caught a moment's repose from the worries and endless speculation. Darjella, Tyr, Charlemagne, Harper, Trance, Fertrun… Every time she finished running a lap around the circles in her head, she looked up and something else was happening around her.

-o-

It wasn't hard to lie to Tyr about Fertrun because most of what she said – and all of what she felt – on the subject was true. To work herself up into a fit of seething anger was very easy; Tyr possessed acute Nietzschean senses that could read her body language and chemistry and another sixth sense entirely as to her moods in particular. He had taken a post-workout shower and was lounging on their bed reading when Beka stormed in after her conversation with her mutinous crewman. After less than a minute in her company, he asked her what was wrong.

"Our onboard font of universal good will," she muttered. She scrubbed her hands through her hair, a nervous gesture since childhood, shook her head, and sighed. At Tyr's inquiring look, she forced a tight smile. "Not you. I think Fertrun's defected. Flown the coop, left for higher ground." She went to go lounge by the wide viewscreen, currently set to show the stars around them. There was a wide ledge in front of the screen, atop which she had wrestled narrow cushions into place. She liked to fall on the cushions after a long day and stare out into space.

Behind her, she heard Tyr shift on the bed. "And you were content to let him leave?" A note of menace threaded through the casual question.

"He came to me bitching and moaning about the terrible two, and we talked. I thought we came to an understanding," she said, tossing her hands up in an exaggerated shrug, a gesture of a complete lack of comprehension. "Couple of hours later, I hear that he didn't show up for his shift, and sure enough, one of the slipfighters is missing. I don't know how he got out without tripping any alarms, but he's gone now."

That part was true enough but hardly shocking. Harper was working intensively on rebuilding the Path's artificial intelligence without triggering the old Andromeda Ascendant AI, which meant a lot of delicate work with the computer's innards. Life support and sensors functioned smoothly most of the time, as well as weapons, after Tyr had impressed upon him the necessity of a dependable weapons array. The kid really did a great job of keeping everything running while attempting to rewire it all, but it meant he had to take quite a few of the automated alarms offline. And so Fertrun had probably not worked too hard to slip out unnoticed.

She sighed heavily and leaned against the bulkhead. "To be honest, I'm glad he's gone. I just don't like the idea that he's out there right now, all pissed off in my direction." A tiny grin flicked over her face as she turned to regard Tyr. "I think there is exactly one thing in the universe right now that could make me feel any better."

He set his book aside and raised an eyebrow. "My lady, I am at your service, as always."

Ha ha. If he were serious, she might think of a serious stress-relieving exercise for him, but this was not the time to tease him. "You haven't bestowed upon me one of your famous neck rubs in too long. While you do that, I'll stare out there and see if I spot his slipfighter." The tension in her voice mellowed into dry amusement.

She relaxed under the powerful strokes of his fingers, for more reasons than he knew. He had bought it.

-o-

An hour of relaxation, paid by an evening fraught with unbearable tension a week later. Darjella announced to Beka that she would be paying her a visit aboard her ship. The message was brief, relaying little more than the time and place for their rendezvous. The form of the message did not surprise Beka; Darjella rarely said anything more than necessary over traceable channels. But her mentor had never before expressed a strong interest in seeing the Path, let alone this concrete intention. There was no way to read a tone from the message; it contained simple words on a screen.

In the few days preceding Darjella's arrival, Beka wanted to fret, but she soon found there was no way to expend her nervous energy: no dust lay on the furniture, no clothes hid the carpet in her quarters, none of the computer systems required any maintenance she could perform. With that realization, most of her anxiety slowly drained away, though her stomach continued to flutter nervously nonstop until the day came.

And when it did, Beka discovered to her shock that the woman's visit had little to do with Beka and much to do with her first officer. Beyond a half-hearted reproach on the subject of Fertrun, Darjella had not expressed any desire to criticize or chastise Beka in anyway, conversing with her usual easy grace and warmth as Beka led her on a tour of the ship. When the conversation presented an opening for her to inquire after Darjella's purpose in coming, Beka took it without hesitation.

"If you can spare him, I would love to steal Mr. Anasazi for dinner. Your autochef _is_ one of your fully operational systems, I hope."

Beka laughed automatically at the half-serious joke to cover up her shock. Darjella was here to speak with _Tyr_? But the answer to her question came swiftly to mind; during the expanse of her time with Tyr, Beka had never known the two of them to differ greatly in opinion on any subject, except one. The Arch Duke. From the moment Darjella had learned of Charlemagne's offer – he had minimized the risk of Beka rejecting him out of hand by sending a brief version of his missive to Darjella that same day – she had quietly encouraged Beka to take it… after mature reflection, of course. Much to the contrary, Tyr could not express his suspicion of the man soon or often enough.

And so her worries over Darjella's motive in coming to see Beka evaporated for an hour or two, until the intended dinner actually came to pass. Then, a whole new set of anxieties descended upon Beka, and she spent the entire evening physically queasy with worry. She took an extra shift in Command as she was recently wont to do, hoping to distract herself from her agonizing curiosity, but nothing could engage her attention for long. Even admonishing Harper for the cold shower in her quarters – one of the few times she had _not_ wanted to take a cold shower – did not provide its usual satisfaction.

Beka was half-asleep when Tyr returned, dozing with the lights glaring. She had been plowing through a mining survey of a promising asteroid belt when she had finally drifted off. He was quiet and made little effort to conceal his pensiveness. After a few minutes in the bathroom, he climbed into bed and ordered the lights off. Beka stared at him in the dark, silently willing something, any sign of life from him. Nothing came, and for once, she stayed awake longer than he did, headachy, slightly nauseous, and very unhappy.

-o-

Incredibly, the person she found herself confiding in turned out to be her scrawny engineer, half concealed inside a conduit and occasionally interrupting her with grunted curses. She had come down to check on his progress, as she had become accustomed to doing more and more in the past several days, perhaps weeks. If she thought about it, she might come to realization that she liked to think of her worries like the computer system Harper was trying to construct: complicated, tricky, but perfectly capable of being resolved. But she didn't think about it; she simply found herself gravitating to the repairs without bothering to wonder at the cause of her newfound fascination.

"Oh hey, boss," he called from his conduit. His voice was muffled by the faceplate he wore, which meant he must have been wielding a torch for some serious welding. "I saw your über-dangerous boss onboard the ship yesterday. Who knew a ruthless puppet master could be so hot, huh?"

Beka leaned forward to thwack his leg. "Just tell me you didn't offer to give her a personal tour of the ship, starting and ending in your quarters." She affected an annoyed tone, but the idea of Harper hitting on Darjella was mostly amusing.

He shifted a little and didn't reply for a moment as the whoosh of a lit torch filled the air. A bluish light filled the conduit, and Beka could feel the heat from where she lounged against the bulkhead. After a few minutes, she heard the torch click off and the buckle of his mask unlock.

"Give me a little credit," he protested. "Anyway, I didn't have the chance. She was with Tyr, and they were in the middle of a pretty intense discussion. Not that I heard anything good." The mask fell to the deck with a loud clunk, and Harper shifted further until he appeared to be lying on his side.

"That's more than I heard," Beka muttered. "Well," she said in brighter tone forced for Harper's sake, "at least they both emerged physically unscathed."

Tools rattled around, echoing in the conduit. Beka couldn't help feeling just a little useless, standing here gossiping while Harper was working. Well, she had been working double shifts in Command just to get her mind off everything else and decided that she deserved this break.

"It's about that guy who was always trying to kill you, isn't it? The Über?"

Beka was surprised at Harper's acuity and then vaguely ashamed at her surprise. She hoped the news of Charlemagne's offer hadn't advanced too far along the grapevine, but it should not have amazed her that her crewmembers should know. In her surprise and subsequent guilt, she forgot to reprimand him for using the slur.

"Charlemagne Bolivar, right. I don't know, probably. It's the first time they've ever disagreed on something this big." She chuckled dryly. "And what does our resident Chief Engineer make of this? Might as well get another opinion, just in case I didn't have enough of 'em."

"Well…" He wiggled and muttered something, presumably in the direction of the panel he was repairing. "I don't know. This guy _has_ tried to kill you, Beka, and you know how I feel about those people in general, Tyr sorta excepted." He paused for a moment longer and continued. "And Trance doesn't like him," he said, as if that were the final word on the subject.

Great. Harper and Trance and Tyr found themselves agreeing on something, and it was something her boss would hate. Divine knew she didn't personally like Charlemagne much, but she was forced to respect him, if not admire him. She could not fathom why he should want to pursue the kind of charade with her that she was pursuing with Tyr, but she thought she had convinced him to put that idea on hold. The alternative, she repeated endlessly in her head, was making him an enemy once and for all. How Tyr, at least, could fail to see the monumental danger that would pose, she had not the least idea.

-o-

Beka was finishing a shift in Command when she heard the news. She had been conducting a little coercive diplomacy with a feisty arms dealer who had agreed to work around Darjella's territory in exchange for a healthy percentage of the profits he would lose due to the arrangement. He refused to see that he would not be able to spend any of the bribe money if he were dead, so Beka had been forced to sniff out some blackmail material. It turned out that his penchant for selling Makra infants to Nightsider swamps for the little rodents to learn to hunt really could lead to a fate worse than death if the Makra discovered it.

He had seen the error of his ways – in holding out against Beka, not in selling young children to a horrific end – and had quickly dropped his thorny attitude in favor of a much friendlier, even ingratiating manner. Mostly he annoyed her, but in hopes of getting in her good graces, he did impart a very interesting bit of gossip.

"Great timing, making nice with Bolivar," he said in an oily, 'we're two worldly people discussing worldly affairs' tone she usually associated with panicky Nightsiders. Perhaps that was where he had picked it up. He flashed a sickly smile and continued when she showed no sign off taking the bait. "His people caught up with the Sabra woman and spirited her away to some hole-in-the-ground prison supposed to be tighter than an FTA auditor's ass."

Smarmy and he mixed his metaphors. Beka was not sure why she was still speaking to him but mentally conceded that he might finally have stumbled upon something interesting to say.

"That right?" she asked lazily, looking away from the screen for a long moment as if she had something more pressing demanding her attention.

"Sabra forces are disintegrating all over the frontlines," he continued with a pathetically hopeful whine. "The generals are divided between wanting to launch a new assault, fall back to the homeworld, and send out search parties to the four corners of the universe."

So that was what he meant by her great timing, that Charlemagne's forces were poised to win this war. She was obscurely relieved that this man was not pretending to threaten her in some indirect manner, implying that Charlemagne would hunt Beka down with the same determination if she did not agree to his offer. But while he might not be thinking along those lines – or if he were, did not dare state aloud something so distasteful – Beka could not help her own pessimism.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: No reviews. Oh noes! Luckily, I retain such guilt from neglecting my stories in the past that I am no longer capable of doing so. I hope.

Also, this chapter's a couple pages longer than usual. Strap in and buckle up!

-o-

Later, she wished she would have known that this was going to be the last time she worked out with Tyr. For one thing, she would have worked harder to impress him, to how him how much he had taught her. That was the only thing she would have done differently, had she known.

Instead, she was distracted, wondering about the Sabra woman's fate and how it might relate to her own, all while trying to keep up with Tyr's demanding regimen: stretching, weights, aerobic sparring. She was aware enough of her distracting to be thankful that he had not chosen this day for aquatic exercises; Beka barely managed to stay afloat on the best of days. He noticed too and caustically remarked on her lack of focus but did not inquire further. She realized that he was not going to make this any easier for her, so when he took her down yet again, much too easily, she spoke bluntly, too preoccupied for subtlety.

"Fine," she panted, "I give." He was sitting lightly on her pelvis, straddling her and wordlessly watching her catch her breath. "Rumor has it that Charlemagne's people caught up with Elsbett Mossadim, and she hasn't been seen since. Supposedly they've locked her in a super top secret dungeon somewhere, but she could just as well be so much organic space debris for all anyone knows."

He continued to look at her impassively, wearing his most inscrutable expression. Unreadable. "If you're trying to excuse your poor performance today," he drawled after a silent beat or two, "it's not going to work."

Beka glared and hit his thigh with a curled-up fist. "Yeah yeah, Tyr Anasazi keeps his cool when tons of rock come crashing down around his head. I'm not _excusing_ anything. I'm… confiding my innermost thoughts."

"While you're supposed to be defending yourself?" A trace of irritation heated his voice. "This is not the time to wax eloquent about your insecurities, Beka." To drive his point him, he flexed his bone blade and in a flash had them pressed against the sides of her throat, a hair away from drawing blood.

"Cut the crap," she hissed, surprised and hurt at his contemptuous dismissal of her anxiety. "Get – ow! – get up!" She landed a clumsy punch on the meat of his arm. He showed no sign of having felt anything and leaned his weight fully atop her.

That was a couple hundred pounds of Nietzschean, much of it bearing down on her torso. She could barely breathe now and felt herself growing furious. He had not secured her arms, so she hooked her fingers into claws and launched them at his face. Had this constituted an actual assault, she would have gone straight for the eyes, but even in her rage she remained controlled enough to realize that she probably did not want a blinded first officer slash head bodyguard.

Tyr pulled his head back to avoid her fingernails – short as they were, he had taught her how to throw the strength of her arms and core muscles behind them. Heart pounding, Beka moved almost instinctively to free her legs by rocking from side to side as hard as she could. She planted one foot firmly on the ground and pushed as hard as she could until Tyr rolled off her. When she was free, she stood, panting and sweating. Her hand hovered over her waist where her gun normally sat.

"And now I shoot you dead," she spat. "Satisfied?" He rose silently, and she was gratified to see that he was breathing a little harder than usual. Not much, but it was there.

"Beka," he finally said, in a weary tone that almost startled her out of her anger, "have you not been listening to me all this time? You must remain constantly vigilant, not only of strangers and your surroundings, but of everything and everyone."

"Right, undying suspicion because I never know when you're going to decide that this is the day to launch your glorious Nietzschean revival." Her anger was back already, full force. Every muscle in her body felt tense, and she gestured wildly, hands slicing through the air. "Is it gonna be today, Tyr? You know, if you do me the favor of warning me, it'll go a lot smoother. You might want to consider it, enlightened self-interest and everything."

The last time they had held this conversation, it had ended in an unreadable kiss. Beka doubted it would end that way again; she, at least, was in no mood to kiss anybody, especially not the man standing near her who had nearly asphyxiated her just a few minutes ago.

"And leave you behind?" Tyr asked incredulously, not bothering to hide his sneer. "I'd sooner sleep with a loaded gun in my mouth."

Beka really didn't like where this was going. If she understood him correctly, he was insinuating that he would actually kill her if (when) the time came for him to take charge of his destiny in a big way. She could not say what she had thought would happen; would he just politely ask her to leave while he assumed command? But killing her had never entered into it. Betrayal was enough to worry about.

"Nice to know you think so highly of my determination to wreak my vengeance upon you and my skill in carrying it out." Her scalp prickled as she imagined what she might like to do to Tyr if he did betray her and then send her off in the Maru. Maybe he was right. Her trigger finger itched, and suddenly, shockingly, she wished she had her gun at her side. She had taken it off for their work-out and left it with her belt and jacket at the far corner of the room.

He did smile briefly at that, but his words were deadly serious. "Fearsome an enemy as I'm certain you are, even less would I enjoy the prospect of Pride Jaguar's resources behind your ire."

So that was the reason for this strangely hostile display of his. She should have known; he had probably heard the news about Elsbett days ago from Darjella and had worked out immediately how it would sway her decision. What she wouldn't give to know how their conversation had gone, she had thought countless times during and since that evening.

She stepped closer to him, more aware than ever of his superior size and strength. Even his scent, which she normally enjoyed to the point of unwanted arousal, was intimidating – very male, surrounding her and bringing on an odd sensation like claustrophobia. Part of her wanted to run away and gulp several lungfuls of fresh air, but she knew that she needed to stay and see this episode out.

"So that's it," she said softly, dropping her voice so anyone but Tyr would have to strain to hear. "This… tantrum. As much as you hate him, you know _exactly_ how much I stand to gain from this… understanding with Charlemagne." She looked up into his eyes, nearly purring as she spoke, but seduction was far from her goal. She was still tense with anger but thought that a tactic other than snark and wild gesturing might advance the discussion in a more reasonable manner.

While she spoke, he reached up with one hand to untie the strap of something that held his hair back. He shook his head, whether denying her words or simply loosing his hair, she could not tell until he replied. "I don't hate him. I have less reason to despise him than you do, but I also have less reason to crave the security he offers you."

A sarcastic quip – right, because I'm going to be so biased in favor of a man who's continually tried to have me killed since I landed this ship – lay tempting on the tip of her tongue, but she managed to restrain herself. She hugged her irritation close to her and let him continue.

He trailed his fingers down her arm, and then she did think of seduction. Even in the midst of homicidal impulses, he made her skin shiver and her stomach clench not unpleasantly. "As an ally, I will readily admit that few can rival the material benefits he can give you. As a friend, I would trust him to act like any Nietzschean possessed of a shred of intelligence."

His voice trailed off, but she was sure he was not yet finished saying whatever he had to say. He lightly curled his fingers around hers and lifted her hand to rest against his chest. Under his shirt, which appeared to be made of black netting, his heart pounded slow and strong.

"But he will not be satisfied with either kind of relationship. I cannot give you a reason, but Bolivar is determined to take you for a lover."

Oh, this was too much. He could not give her a reason, as if the idea of an intimate relationship with her was so inconceivably lunatic.

"Tyr," she sighed, "you're being insulting and you're wrong, but before we go into that… so what if he is? I think I'm capable of resisting his charms, especially when I have such an impressive trophy boyfriend at home." Despite her most conscientious efforts, a note of sarcasm sneaked into her voice near the end.

He drew her a little closer. "You can, but why would you choose do so, if he presented himself as a powerful, eloquent man deeply in love with you who did not care what the universe at large thought?" A small ironic smile tugged at his lips.

Beka's eyes narrowed. "Good point." After a moment's glare, she dropped her eyes and looked calmly back up at him. "All right, it would be tempting. Of course it would; I'd have to be dead not to like that. But come on, I like to think I know a little better than to mix business with pleasure, and I doubt I'll forget how close he's come to killing me. Besides," she added with a grin of her own, "it's not like you'd let me forget."

She expected to elicit a wider smile from him, but instead he squeezed her hand tighter and lowered his head to drop a gentle kiss on it. He wore a mournful expression, and Beka understood in a flash what he was working himself up to say. She smothered her panic in a second and willed herself harder than she ever had to remain calm, not just on the outside but inside as well.

_It's going to happen soon_, she thought. In spite of his recent declaration, she was fairly sure that he would prefer to keep things as peaceful as possible; if there was a way for her to stay alive, they would both be happy for it. Without moving her head or even sliding her eyes to check her peripheral vision, she could perfectly picture the gym around them. Most importantly, she knew that Tyr's gun was in his belt, draped around a nearby exercise bench.

All this passed through her mind before he looked back at her, face still except for his eyes, always his most expressive feature. She let her grin fade under his solemnity but kept up the bantering tone. "Come on," she said, "you know I can take care of myself. I could do it before I met you, and I can do it even better now. I'm not just going to roll over for him." She gently tried to pull her hand away, and after a moment's resistance, he let her.

"You wouldn't be half so fascinating to any of us if you would," he murmured. Then, apparently missing the contact with her, he cupped her cheek in his hand and looked at her so searchingly that she was afraid he would read her mind. But no, she noted with relief that he was too intent on what she was increasingly certain was his farewell to think about anything else.

She stepped closer and silently laid her head on his chest, with her hands on either side. He had always smelled so good up close like this, she remembered. It felt wonderful, just standing like this; in that moment, she would have given anything to stay there forever, or even for a few more minutes.

"I'll tell you a secret," he whispered into her hair. "I've often wished you were a Nietzschean. Such a life we could have built…"

Beka sniffled. "Yeah," she said softly, "I'm sorry too." And with that, she wrapped her fingers tight around his shirt and pulled his torso down as she jammed her knee up, then shoved him backward as hard as she could. His eyes flew open wide as he gasped and made a noise like a balloon slowly losing its air.

She kept an eye on him as she raced toward the bench and grabbed his belt without bothering to remove the gun right away. He recovered quickly, more quickly than she would have imagined – having kneed men in the groin before, Beka was frankly amazed – but she had the weapon in her hands, powered up, and aimed at him before he could take a step closer.

"You did this," she said flatly. "You just had to have your cake and eat it too." It was kind of noble, actually, getting as close as he ever would to telling her he loved her before taking over her ship.

"No, Beka" he replied with a ghost of a smile, "don't debase yourself. You behaved magnificently, and now you have this situation well under your control."

"Yeah, I do. Now you, stay there. It'll hurt me to pull this trigger, but I'm pretty sure it'll hurt you even more."

He did as he was told as Beka slowly backed up and retrieved her own gun from the corner. "You were really going to do it, weren't you?" she asked as she made her careful way across the gym. "Take over the ship. Go do whatever it is you think you have to do."

"I once told Trance I would not keep you here by deceit," he answered. That very faint smile still touched the corners of his mouth. "Yes, that was my intent. Funny, isn't it," he said thoughtfully, "I was fully prepared to shoot you, yet I could never bear the idea of lying to you."

"Good," she replied shortly, "I really hate it when people lie to me. I take it much more personally than people firing at me. Now, I'm going to back out of the room, and you're going to follow me, nice and slow."

Once she had maneuvered the two of them into the corridor, keeping Tyr at a safe distance – not too close and not too far away – she ordered him to make his way to the brig, where she could keep him until she could call in some reinforcements. All the while, she fought to keep her breath and heart rate low, unwilling to give him a single weakness he could exploit. For now, she was in charge, but she knew him too well to hope her good fortune would last.

She kept her full attention on him while he obligingly slipped into one of the cells. Even contained within a force field, contained within a reinforced titanium cage, he worried her enough that she kept her weapons at the ready while she called orders over the shipwide comm. Loathe to alert her crew to the situation until absolutely necessary, she stated simply that she was looking after a minor malfunction which she would resolve momentarily and that crewmembers should be on the look-out for any anomalous activity.

He just smirked at her, infuriating in his calm and amusement. "Very clever. And what do we do now? As events stand now, you've won, Captain. Are you going to let your victory sour because you cannot dispose of a dangerous rival?"

"Shut up," she snapped. And then it occurred to her. She did not trust any of her crew, including herself, to see Tyr off the ship, singly or together. But if she had a little help from a friend…

Charlemagne had given her the contact information for a trusted associate of his who could relay any important message to the Arch Duke within a day. From V deck, Beka summoned Harper and ordered him to send an encrypted message she had just composed to the destination she gave him. With a heavy heart, she allowed him to take the Maru and told herself that he was not going through dangerous territory and that the Maru was not as vulnerable as it once had been.

She chosen him in particular because his disappearance would elicit the least comment; his shift in Command was over, and he spent most of his off-time in the bowels of the ship where no one else went much. Trance might become curious, but Beka calculated that the message delivery should take no more than a few hours.

While Beka waited, she did her best to ignore Tyr. She had complete confidence in the cell's escape-proof design; the only tool left to Tyr now was his voice. Whoever had built the brig had thought of this, probably having watched too many holodramas where the good (and occasionally bad) guy escaped prison by various means of persuasion. One of the keys on the console would activate very specialized sound dampeners, which allowed the jailer to speak to the jailee without hearing the jailee's pleas or threats for freedom.

She eyed the panel, and Tyr laughed at her. "Do you trust yourself around me so little? You disappoint me."

"Right," she retorted, "I disappoint you 'cause I'm not going to subject myself to unnecessary risk. You're right, I don't trust myself around you." He was good at this, too good. Even as she snapped back at him, she felt a sinking sensation in her stomach on hearing him profess his disappointment in her. Too damn good by half.

The console alerted her that this function was dangerous and could be grounds for Commonwealth court martial or other legal action. She accepted anyway with a snort at the idea of anyone, especially the extinct High Guard, court marshalling her. It was easier to keep an eye on him, she discovered, when she was not also making the effort not to hear him. To occupy her time until Harper returned, she caught up on the bundle of unread news reports that had arrived with the latest mail delivery, glancing up at Tyr every minute or so.

The hours seemed to be stretching into weeks by the time Harper notified her that he had returned. Again, she met him just outside the brig and heard with relief that the messenger had guaranteed receipt within half a day.

"Come on, boss," he pleaded, "lemme in on the big secret. Who'm I gonna tell, anyway. Okay…" he relented, "maybe Trance, but that's all. You know she could squeeze a secret out of a stone."

She snorted. "I know, and that's why I'm not telling you." It wasn't that she cared much whether Trance knew, but the more people knew something, the more likely it was that other people would find out. She doubted that her security contingent would be so foolish as to take Tyr's side over hers if they discovered the situation, but that was another risk she did not need to take.

"If anyone asks you where you went, you can tell them that I had you run an errand concerning the minor malfunction I mentioned earlier," she continued.

Harper's eyes widened. "That's this? Weren't you resolving that momentarily before I left?"

"Yeah well, it'll be a little longer. And I might as well tell you, we're going to have company sometime in the next day or so. Think of them as… the repairmen." She would have to alert the crew of this as well, so they didn't attack Charlemagne's vessel when he approached.

"The next _day_ or so? Geez, are you planning to stay here all by yourself that whole time? Are you sure I can't help you out?" Harper's concern was genuine, as far as she could tell, and she was almost moved to explain everything.

She sighed. "I'll keep your offer in mind. Now, I gotta go make sure everything's still okay. Thanks, Harper."

Her heart was pounding somewhere around her throat as she turned to enter the brig again, but everything looked exactly the same as she had left it. Most importantly, Tyr was still lounging in his cell, following her ceaselessly with his eyes. He was smirking again, no surprise there. Beka started pacing, bulkhead to bulkhead, sick of standing and sitting still. It was hard to watch Tyr while avoiding his gaze, but she managed. When she grew tired of pacing, she returned to the main console to continue her reading.

Something trilled at her, startling her out of the reverie that had settled upon her as she read. The words "Message sent" flashed twice over her reading, without further explanation. She glanced sharply at Tyr, who yawned ostentatiously and then winked. Shit.

A few minutes later, the hatch to the brig slid open to reveal two of her bodyguards, newer people she had not got to know very well. She did recall that they had seemed friendly with Fertrun Nav, and…

Shit. They were pointing force lances at her, the weapons they had discovered in abundance in the Path's weapons locker.

"Sorry, Captain," Mittander y'Astrave said with a leer that did not make him look very sorry at all. "Tyr's offered us an awful lot for… effecting a regime change. Those were his words. Better'n you're paying us by a long shot." The other, Itasi Kinkerra, held her force lance in silence, stony-faced.

Beka wanted to scream. Tyr must have offered them a sizeable chunk of change and maybe more than just cash, for she knew she paid her people very well. She shouldn't have sent Harper away after all; even he would be better than nothing here. Silently promising retribution to her unfaithful crewmembers, she allowed them to take her guns, but there was another weapon they did not know was waiting in the wings. Within the day, Charlemagne Bolivar would be arriving. She was glad that at least she had not told her crewmembers about his forthcoming visit and hoped these two had not recently crossed paths with Harper.

The next several hours would bring some very interesting events. She just hoped she would be alive to witness it all.


	13. Chapter 13

**B.L.A the Mouse – **Unexpected is good, I think! I hope my every twist and turn isn't predictable a mile in advance. Then again, I hope it wasn't _completely_ out of left field. Thanks as always for the review!

-o-

Once he was armed, Tyr sent his mutineers away so they were alone again. Beka made no attempt to hide her panic now, heart racing and sweat pouring from her skin. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry as dust.

"You should have kept your flunkies here," she rasped. "Woulda made it a lot easier to do this with those two cheering on your pay scheme. And I have no qualms about saying embarrassing things to save my ass when there's no one else around to hear." That was a lie, actually, but she thought she got her point across. She hoped he wouldn't launch into another one of these speeches that just skirted on telling her he loved her while he shot her. Not only did the scenario strike her as very silly, but she knew deep down that part of her would be glad to hear him say whatever it was he would say.

A corner of his mouth twitched, but his expression was weary. "You're going to be the death of me yet, Beka. Even if I kill you right now, I know that I shall carry you around with me until I die." His eyes measured her, considering, and he never loosened his grip on the weapon.

"Just knock it off already," Beka snapped. "I am so sick of this waiting game. Shoot me or throw me out the airlock or kick me off in my ship, but stop doing this." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "If you remind me one more time of how much fun we could have had if not for your delusions of destiny, I swear, one of us will not leave this room alive."

Tyr opened his mouth, whether to finally make a decision or to pontificate further, Beka did not know, for her subvocal communicator – another goodie discovered aboard the Path – chirped at that moment. While she was sure that not even Tyr could make out the words of Harper's message, the look of surprise on his face told her that he could hear something. Or maybe he was just reading her own startled expression.

When the message finished, she raised an eyebrow at Tyr. "By all means," he said, "answer."

Pressing the spot just under her ear that activated the subdural microphone, she did just that. "Thanks, Harper. Change of plans – do not tell _anyone_ about our guest. I want it to be a surprise. Take Trance and get somewhere safe, ASAP. No, that's all I can say. I'll tell you more when I can."

She felt smugly satisfied when she saw a look of surprise cross Tyr's face. He wasn't the only one with an ace up his sleeve, she thought. She had instructed Harper just now not to inform anyone of Charlemagne's arrival, but she realized that Tyr would probably be a lot less likely to kill her outright after considering the combined wrath of Darjella_ and_ the Arch Duke. As she finished the communication, she waited patiently for Tyr to ask the question she knew he would.

After a silent moment, he obliged. "Our guest? Are you planning a fête I was not informed of?"

"Gee Tyr, it was supposed to be a surprise party, but I guess I let the cat outta the bag. I bet you can guess who the guest of honor is."

He nodded, a little stiffly. "When you stepped out earlier, you were instructing the little professor to relay a message to the Arch Duke. Bravo. I could kill you now, and I wouldn't gain a thing."

Beka bit back a smile with the greatest effort. She thought Tyr was actually pouting a very little bit. "Right, so let's be reasonable about this. You're going to get off this ship, and you're going to take those two – and anyone else you've suckered in – with you. It should be obvious to you that you are _not_ going to get this ship, and I see no reason why we can't part ways like rational people." She really didn't want to kill him. He had said it so well – if she did, she would carry him around for the rest of her life.

Tyr let his gun clatter to the deck and gazed at her almost tenderly. "Congratulations, Beka. Truly." He extended a hand to her, and slowly, she reached out and took it.

And then felt a tiny prick at her palm, and the world went black.

-o-

Gunshots echoing nearby jerked Beka into garish consciousness, bright and painful to her eyes. She felt a rush of vertigo atop a stronger sensation, more of a blow, of déjà vu. For a moment, she was sure she was waking up in rented quarters in the bad part of a drift in the bad part of the Lesser Magellanic Cloud, even though she knew full well that she was aboard the Path. Where, she was less certain until her vision cleared to show her the shiny shapes of medical equipment and the endless cabinets marching along the bulkhead.

She tried to sit up, but wide bands restrained her ankles, waist, and elbows. Someone had bound her to a medical bed? The shots died down for a moment, but then they rang out again, louder and closer than before. Beka jerked in her bonds, but she was held tight. The Path's rudimentary A.I. did not respond to her calls, and her arms were bound too tightly for her to nudge her subdural microphone with her shoulder.

Well, she was not going to wait here helplessly for someone to come and shoot or rescue her. She jerked harder, but the bonds did not give a centimeter. Instead, the bed itself rocked infinitesimally, which would have been more encouraging if it had had wheels. If she got up enough steam, she wondered if she could actually rip the mattress from the bed and end up on the deck. It might hurt, but she could probably manage to move somehow. Frightening situations were always less intimidating when one could move, even if it wasn't very much.

After several minutes of rocking side to side, Beka had torn the mattress most of the way from the bed frame. Luckily, perhaps, the hatch to Medical slid open as she rested between rocks. She froze and tensed her body, preparing for one final lunge if the entrant turned out to be hostile. If someone fired at her, she might be able to flop to the deck, though what she would do next was beyond her.

"Rebecca?"

She laughed aloud with relief. "If it isn't the Arch Duke himself. Get your ass over here and bring a scalpel."

He chuckled in reply and glided toward one of the counters, where a variety of silver utensils sparkled in the bright light. "Aye, Captain. I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you alive and well." In a matter of seconds he had sliced through the wide bands, and she swung her feet to the deck to stand and stretch.

"'Well' remains to be determined. Tyr's friends must have slipped him a microtranquilizer when they gave him his gun." She blinked several times in succession and wiggled her fingers and toes. "I feel fine now… I guess he knew what he was doing."

Charlemagne crossed his arms and looked at her with his head cocked. "Frankly, I'm rather surprised to see you. Have you worked your way into the heavily fortified heart of our favorite Kodiak orphan?"

Beka snorted. "Something like that, but I don't think that alone would stop him from killing me. He found out you were on your way and…"

More gunshots, now a little more distant, interrupted her. "And that's not important now. Do you have an extra gauss gun on you?"

"For my esteemed captain, always," he replied with a little bow as he took a gun from his belt and handed it to her. She checked the power supply and the safety, and when she looked up, he was wielding what appeared to be a custom laser weapon. She whistled. Despite her declarations that she felt fine, Beka's feet stumbled underneath her as she took a step toward Charlemagne.

He reached out with his free hand as fast as he had drawn his weapon and caught her around the ribs. "Careful," he said with a touch of amusement. "Can't have you falling over in front of the troops."

She tried to disengage herself from his grasp but, when he refused to let her stand without support, settled for draping an arm around his neck.

"Just tell me one thing," she said. _You _don't have any secret Nietzschean agenda to pursue at the helm of this ship, do you?"

He grinned. "I'm already Arch Duke, and to tell you the truth, I prefer the stability of a good, tightly controlled planet."

"Great. Let's go take back my ship."

-o-

"Just my luck," she muttered. They had followed the sound of gun fire to the hangar where the Maru sat. Charlemagne's bodyguards, he explained, had held off Tyr's mutineers while he forced the lock on Medical, and apparently the mutineers had retreated to this place.

The Maru looked almost serene among the cacophony of light and sound from the firefight going on around him. Beka recognized another of her crew helping Tyr, but most of them were not present. Judging by his treatment of her, she guessed they were all either dead, unconscious, or securely locked in their quarters. She hoped Harper and Trance were in the latter category, that they had received her message in time to find someplace safe.

Charlemagne's people were pushing the others into a corner, and those others were slowly realizing that they were not going to win this round. One of their number lay still on the deck. Despite the reputation and skill of every one of Beka's crew, Charlemagne simply had more people, and most of them were decent fighters themselves.

"Tyr!" Beka shouted, "stand down! I told you once, there's no way you're getting the Path."

He turned to look at her. She was no longer leaning on Charlemagne for support, but he hovering near her with an arm outstretched to steady her if she needed it. A sudden flash of deep unease came over her; it should be Tyr hovering annoyingly close to her, watching her back as they faced their newest foe.

"I've told you, Beka, this is bigger than me!" His voice echoed through the hangar more impressively than hers had. Hmph. "I'll have this ship, I promise you."

Mittander muttered something to his leader and shook his head violently. "Hey, Captain, you know this is nothing personal, right?" He dropped his gun faster than that irritating smirk and threw his hands in the air. "I'll just leave real peaceful, no hard feelings, okay?" Tyr moved in a blur, firing a single shot from his gun before letting it fall. Mittander hit the deck with a heavier thump a moment later.

Beka rolled her eyes. "Real nice, Tyr. Now it looks like you only got one friend left on board." She sighed. "Don't be an idiot. If by some miracle you do get your hands on the Path, how long do you really think you'll be able to keep her? You'll have Darjella on one side and Charlemagne on the other, not to mention I'll be pretty pissed off."

He looked her up and down then slid his gaze to Charlemagne for a moment. "Then you've made your decision?"

"I have."

"You know what my advice would be," he said slowly.

She scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. Get outta here while I'm still too drugged up to think straight."

With more dignity than she would have believed possible under the circumstances, he climbed into a slipfighter along with his remaining crewman and sped out the hangar. Something lurched inside her chest as she watched him disappear into the airlock and then beyond. She shivered and wrapped her arms tightly around her. Charlemagne's arm drifted, soft and warm, to her waist.

"Your ship, Captain," he murmured.

She forced a laugh. "Great." Her first officer, first bodyguard, oldest friend (how weird was that?), and fake boyfriend was gone. Aside from the serious material and emotional loss, people in her circles would be snickering at her expense for the next couple of weeks. "Can this day get any better?"


	14. Chapter 14

**New York Hope – **Yay a new reviewer! And thanks SO much for your comment. I got all wibbly and shippy when I heard him say that precisely because I knew it was the most I would ever get from him on the show. Oh, I knew it all along, but it was nice to hear some sort of confirmation.

**B.L.A the Mouse – **Oh, she's already sorta regretting it. Some days, you just wish you HAD fired that shot.

-o-

Some days she was glad she had let him go. Angst and guilt on top of the stress of a major life change would have eaten ulcers through her stomach lining. And crying would have ruined her complexion for all the social calls she made, the kinds of visits she had put off a little too long recently and now had to make anyway, to reassure her business associates that the recent upheaval would not affect her relationship with them or her efficiency, et cetera. Her conscious rested easier at night, even if her paranoia was ratcheted up a notch.

And some days, fewer than the first kind, she wished she had killed him. She thought of this mainly when she was around Nietzscheans, who would have done so – and with good reason. She also thought of it when something bumped in the night and made her wonder just what Tyr was planning for his great destiny. When she was feeling pragmatic, she refuted her paranoia with the logic that his destiny had nothing to do with her either way, so she had no reason to hear from him again, and if he did achieve whatever it was, he would probably prefer it that he were alive, thanks to her.

In any case, she had other things to think about. One's head bodyguard slash oldest friend slash fake boyfriend trying to take over one's ship and working up one's nerve to kill one (even if he ultimately failed) was usually the emotional highlight of anyone's week, but when it rained emotional upheaval in the life of Rebecca Valentine, it poured. From figurative dawn to figurative dusk, Beka was on her feet, making plans and meeting people. The life of a lieutenant to a mob general was never dull, but for several days after Tyr… left, Beka functioned at an especially frantic pace.

The worst day started out bad enough. Upon seeing the Path, Charlemagne had liked the ship so much that he decided to stay for a while – the Nietzschean leader and his Nietzschean coterie aboard her ship contributed in large part to Beka's frazzled state of mind. As his new ally and temporary host, Beka was naturally subject to a sudden explosion of publicity, mostly from other important Jaguar officials, and the biggest wig of them all was the Matriarch, who took a personal interest in Beka and insisted on meeting her.

The day Beka awoke to an icy shower was the day before she was supposed to meet with the Jaguar Matriarch, who Charlemagne had described in a suspiciously bland tone of voice as an "interesting" woman who kept in his place. When she relayed a repair request to Harper, she received not the obligatory protest about how mercilessly she worked him but a quiet request that she come to his quarters when she could. His solemnity scared Beka more than terrified screams ever could, so she set off at a jog to see what he wanted.

When the hatch slid open and she saw Trance holding two potted plants, she knew what was coming. Harper's lower half was sticking out of a closet, where he was rooting around and from whence came flying various articles of clothing she recognized.

"Oh, Beka, hi," Trance said tremulously. "Um, we were just… Harper?" She turned away and began riffling through a chest of drawers.

A muffled thump and less muffled curse sounded from the closet, and a moment later, Harper emerged. "Boss, wow, you came over pretty fast. I wasn't… never mind." His eyes darted around the room, settling on Trance for a moment before Beka loudly cleared her throat. He flushed a little and shuffled in place.

"What is going on?" she asked, now more exasperated than worried. "Or are you going to just stand there and make me guess?"

Harper looked royally uncomfortable for a long, silent moment before he burst out, "Me and Trance are leaving, boss. I mean, you don't need us anymore." He scratched his neck and forced a bark of laughter. "I don't think you ever did. I never understood why you kept us on in the first place."

Beka doubted it would help any to admit that she never really understood it either. She had just _liked_ them, that's all. Pragmatically speaking, it probably was best that they leave now. Even before she asked, she thought she knew the reasons behind their departure.

"Listen," she said slowly, "I'd really like you two to stay. The rest of my crew, you know, they're very professional and by-the-book and good at what they do. They're good people to have, but you guys…" She chuckled. "Hell, you remind me of _me_, in the old days when I was hauling cargo to put food in the mess."

That didn't come out the way she had hoped. Being around Tyr for so long had probably robbed her of her ability to speak clearly about her feelings. She wanted to say that she felt more like one of _them_ than she felt like a member of the larger crew. In another life, she thought they would have made a pretty decent crew, just a handful of scrappy kids making their way through the Known Worlds.

Trance turned back around with a wry smile and held Beka's eye for a long moment. Beka sighed; the girl looked sympathetic but mostly resigned. She knew the feeling.

"Is it Tyr? Is it Charlemagne? What triggered this?"

Harper cut his eyes toward Trance again, but still she kept silent. "It's sorta been coming for a while. Tyr wasn't too bad after awhile… it's weird, but I was kinda warming up to him. But we never fit in, even before what's-his-name ran out on you. You're going to need new people anyway, and your new friend's gonna send in some of his minions…" He laughed weakly, but at least it was genuine laughter this time. "I don't think anyone's gonna want a kludge and a purple pixie mixing with the Übers."

Beka nodded. She could understand that. For her part, she wasn't sure how much she wanted to mix with the Üb… the Jaguar Nietzscheans. At least her remaining crewmembers were a motley bunch, able to hold their own against the eternal criticisms of genetic inferiority. She wondered how many of them would follow Harper and Trance in the next couple of days. She hoped at least that Skaerynet would stay; they had had a pretty quiet relationship but it was steady and dependable. After Tyr, Harper, and Trance, that was the closest she felt with a crewmember.

She focused her attention back on the scene in front of her. Damn, it was hard to be supportive of this change, but she would not blandish them into staying. "Well, listen, if you guys change your minds, you're always welcome here or wherever I'm crashing." She paused. "I'll miss you, both of you."

Harper stuck out his hand and smiled. "Yeah, I'll miss you too. Hey, throw around a coupla good words for us, will you? I know this guy, works at a casino, says he has a job that'll be perfect for me, but who knows."

Beka took his hand and outstretched another toward Trance. "Always. Listen, I don't blame you guys. I probably wouldn't want to stay either, if I were in your place. I wish you would, but I get it." There, that had come out pretty well.

Softly, Trance clasped Beka's hand, and then propelled herself forward to embrace Beka. "Oh… okay," Beka murmured.

"Oh, what the hell!" Harper exclaimed and launched himself at the two women. They were a bundle of squeezing arms and slightly breathless laughter until they separated, all feeling quite a bit more cheerful. All things considered, it was the most pleasant farewell she'd been party to in a long time.

-o-

She did not watch them leave. Their new employer… it hurt a little to think that, way down… had sent a ship for them, so they did not need a last ride anywhere. She would have liked to send them off in the Maru, like a friend would do, but it was not to be. It would have given her a few more days with them, and she would have welcomed spending more time with them. They had not been with her long, not nearly long enough to develop inside jokes and knowing looks. That was another thing she would regret with the little time she had to spare to think about it.

And then she had to stop waxing nostalgic – or wishing she could wax nostalgic – because she had to worry about meeting the Jaguar Matriarch. First, she had to take a hot shower; while she had not penetrated the deeper mysteries of Nietzschean custom and etiquette, she was pretty sure that clean hair was up there with cunning and Sun Tzu. She lathered her hair and rinsed (no repeat), but the hot spray of water and spicy-sweet fragrance of her shampoo/conditioner could not relax her as they often did. And there was no Tyr lounging on her bed to proposition for a neck massage.

Relax, relax, she told herself. With a wry little smile, she thought that Charlemagne would be too happy to oblige if she mentioned it. As she scrubbed expensive soap over her body – soap she had purchased on a rare leisure outing with Tyr, who knew bath products as well as he knew munitions – she wondered if her old Nietzschean were right about her new Nietzschean. She believed she had made herself clear, but Tyr was the most perceptive person she had ever met. But it didn't matter, she wanted to tell both of them; no matter what designs Charlemagne did or did not have on her, she was in no mood to deal with amorous Nietzscheans, sincere or otherwise. They were exhausting enough.

She stepped out of the shower, pulling a dressing gown around her waist when the chime at the hatch sounded. Either someone just happened to request entrance to her quarters when she was getting out of the shower, or…

"Who is it?" she called as she reached back into the shower for a towel. She began ostentatiously rubbing her hair dry, sure she would want the towel for covering soon. She had never minded waltzing around in a robe or less before Tyr, but she had always felt a depressing certainty that he would have managed to resist her if she had performed a lap dance wearing a whipped cream bikini. He might not have liked it, but he would do it. Not do it. Beka shook her head.

"Your devoted servant," Charlemagne called, the grin in his voice positively audible through the bulkhead.

She tightened the robe and told him to enter.

"Well, well," he chuckled, "I do seem to have come at the most inappropriate time." As he spoke, his eyes moved over her slowly, though his view was somewhat obstructed by the towel in her hands.

She invited him to make himself at home and hoped he would not take it as an invitation to… But he didn't; with a murmured thank you, he sank into her favorite spot, the wide ledge before the porthole. "Am I to understand that you are going to be in immediate need of a Chief Engineer and Medic?"

Beka's hands froze for a moment on the towel. He would he have found that out already? She resumed drying her hair with vigor after reminding herself that _nothing_ should surprise her anymore, coming from this man. She had thought the same thing about Tyr, but despite all his warnings, she had still been shocked when… never mind.

"You are," she replied. "Know any good replacements?" In her job, she had become quite adept at convincingly feigning nonchalance. Inside, she was recovering from the shock of his offhand revelation.

"Not personally, but I'll talk with my staff. Perhaps they'll have a colleague they'd like to send off-world."

She laughed a little. What that in mind, she wondered if she could expect to receive glowing recommendations for potential marriage rivals – and then wondered, with less amusement, just how much the rival might resent leaving home. Always a minefield, Nietzschean society, and she was finding herself growing ever more mired in it.

She ducked into the bathroom to toss the used towel out of sight before taking a seat at a safe – but not rude – distance from Charlemagne on the ledge. It was an effort not to glance down and check the fall of the robe, but she was determined to give no sign of how nervous he made her.

"Is it standard procedure" she asked, "that your new friends have to come home to meet the Matriarch?"

Before answering, he stretched his arms wide, then settled them across the low back of the seat. Beka was dismayed to see how close his hand came to touching her shoulder. "When my new friends have such fascinating reputations, it is. Besides, I have no doubt that your employer will soon enough express a wish to know me better. This is not much different." Except, she thought, _she_ was going to flirt with the Ishtar Nikei, Jaguar Matriarch.

"Hm. Is she your boss, then?" The title 'Matriarch' had a sort of motherly ring to it, but it was hard to imagine a Nietzschean _materfamilias_ being very nurturing.

Charlemagne laughed and tilted his head to rest on the back of the seat. "I don't think the word encompasses every subtle shade of our professional relationship, but yes, you could say that Ishtar Nikei is much more my boss than Heinrich Sheroky." She thought his face hardened a little at the mention of the Jaguar Alpha. Oh, she would definitely have to find out what bad blood lay between those two.

Beka did not dare imitate his posture, for fear that her robe would gape, but he looked very comfortable, spread out on her ledge. He obviously had no intention of moving anytime soon.

"And all you're going to tell me is that she's interesting and keeps you in your place?" Well, she might as well try to extract some information out of him for the time being.

He raised his head just enough to grin at her for a moment before flopping back. "I may be saying too much. There's nothing to stop you from looking her up on public records, as I'm sure you've already done, but… I think I'd like you to make as unbiased an impression of her as possible. She's _very_ interesting."

Beka glared at him, and though his eyes were closed, he seemed to feel her disapproval. He smiled up at nothing and changed the subject again back to Trance and Harper.

"I do hope I wasn't the catalyst behind your friends' departure," he commented without even a stab at sincerity.

"Actually, you were," she snapped, half-serious in her annoyance. She had already come to know that Charlemagne was not quite a typical Nietzschean; apparently this extended to a penchant dropping by for gossip. She felt like she should offer to make tea or something and _dish_. "It's funny, but some people don't like being accused of genetic inferiority."

Charlemagne shrugged. "It's the truth, but nobody's perfect. If it makes you feel better, I give you full license to accuse any of my people of intellectual inferiority. In most cases, you'll be correct." He sounded almost like Tyr for a moment, deploring the sorry state of the Nietzschean race. Ouch. Derail that train of thought immediately.

Despite herself, she had to smile at that. "Right. They may be intellectually inferior, but in most cases, they can kick my ass, and we all know it."

"That's why it behooves you to practice the ancient art of the fast draw." To demonstrate, Charlemagne leapt up from his recumbent position faster than Beka's eyes could follow, drew his gauss pistol, and pointed it, charged, at her forehead.

She crossed her arms and tried to look unimpressed. "I pity the man who challenges you to a duel at high noon." She was _sick_ of men pointing guns in her faces, and before she could weigh the implications of such an action, she had jumped to her feet and wrapped her hand around the muzzle of the gun, aiming it toward the deck.

Now she was much closer to Charlemagne than she had planned, and by the slow smile that spread across his face, he was not entirely surprised at this sudden proximity. Bastard had played her like a fiddle.

"Is this something you learn?" she asked after a silent beat. "Wielding this sort of ominous closeness as a weapon? Because it gets old." Her heart was hammering in her chest, but she was beyond caring. Her physiological reactions proved her point, really.

"It comes up," Charlemagne admitted. "Especially in regards to the fairer sex. You're right." But he made no move to step away.

Beka released her grip on the gun. "Glad we got that out of the way. Next time you stop by, you could leave the gun in your quarters. You don't need it to make your point."

Charlemagne cocked his head to look at her quizzically, with a bewildered smile. "How is that you always end up reprimanding me during our conversations?"

Dammit. If there's one thing he could do, it was make her laugh in the midst of her irritation. It was hard to stay mad at someone like that. "Because no one else does it. I am going to make a resolution right now to find you a wife, Charlemagne, who will reprimand you thoroughly, whether you deserve it or not."

Finally, Charlemagne backed away, and Beka could breathe. She made her way to her dresser, hoping he would read the get-out signal on his own. Apparently he did, for when she turned back, he was standing near the hatch. "Now now," he said chidingly, "be careful what you wish for."

"Get out," she replied but couldn't help smiling as she did so.


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: The only reasonable explanation for my delay in posting is the global conspiracy which prevented me from working on, and then from posting this chapter.

**B.L.A the Mouse: Yeah, I'm sure you've noticed by now how much fun I have writing Beka with Nietzscheans. I'm a little predictable that way! Also, it's possible that you haven't seen the last of the dynamic duo… but I'll say no more. (and hearts for cryptic!Tyr)**

-o-

The first thought to cross Beka's mind when she saw the Jaguar Matriarch was: finally. She had been waiting for a total of two and a half hours, punctuated by a quick sandwich and coffee run after the first hour. The second thought, tinged with envy, was: Divine, she looks like a twenty-something rock star, and she could probably bench press me to boot. The third thought was a fervent hope that she did not have anything stuck in her teeth.

Upon closer examination, Ishtar Nikei did not perfectly imitate a twenty-something rocker. Gray streaked her ebony-dark hair, and very fine wrinkles crinkled the skin around her eyes and mouth. Except for a dramatic streak of kohl and perhaps a touch of lip balm, Beka could not detect a trace of make-up on the woman's face. There was no reason for it. No one expected a Matriarch to be young, after all.

"Rebecca Valentine," Ishtar drawled in a deep contralto, "So kind of you to decide to stay." When Beka had left for her snack break, she had been informed upon her return that the Matriarch had come and gone again during those fifteen minutes. Beka stood and tried not to fidget under Ishtar's smoky green gaze. She forced her muscles to relax, to hold her still as she kept her eyes steadily on Ishtar's face.

"Matriarch," Beka replied a little stiffly, "the important thing is, we're both here now. Was there something you wanted to discuss?" She felt silly even as the words tumbled from her mouth. Of course there was something she wanted to talk about; Ishtar Nikei did not strike her as a woman who had much time or patience for idle chatter.

The woman raised her eyebrow and crossed her arms over a mostly-bare midriff. "Unless you're here to look at the wiring, that's why I invited you here."

Part of Beka wanted to laugh, and another part of her wanted to spin on her heel and stomp away. She settled for a tight smile and wished the Matriarch's secretary were not staring so openly at them. "Right," she replied. "Well, by all means, let's talk."

Through an open door, Beka could see a Spartan office, white and chrome trappings where necessary. The Matriarch provided a stunning contrast to her surroundings, currently clad in low-riding beige leather trousers and a top consisting solely of two wide mocha straps, all of it studded with jewel chips. Matching necklace, helix, gun belt, and belly chain polished off the look, leaving Beka feeling even more drab than she usually did next to Nietzschean women.

To her fleeting confusion, Ishtar closed the door to her office and led the way out the exterior door after shooting a cryptic command to her secretary. "Now that you're here, I may have something for you, Captain." She spoke briskly as she navigated carpeted hallways that would have fit right in a posh FTA office building. Sarcasm and leather aside, she carried herself like a very busy and very successful businessperson. There was little of Charlemagne's languid luxury here.

"If you don't mind, I'll reserve my gratitude until after I see it." Beka had to trot to keep up with the Matriarch and sent up a silent thanks at least that she was not wearing heels.

This merited her another long look. "Naturally." There was a curt note in her voice, and Beka hoped she would not start their acquaintance on a sour note. A pessimistic voice in her head told her that she would not amuse this woman the way she amused Tyr and then Charlemagne.

Silence fell for the length of another corridor while Beka thought stubbornly that she was not going to force the conversation. She was not the one who had called this meeting.

"You work for Darjella Milein," Ishtar began without preamble. "It speaks well of you that she ever hired you. I've found her to be a reasonable person in our few dealings together, sufficiently self-interested but not stupid about it."

It was not the faint praise that caught Beka's attention. "Dealings? Was this before… the Arch Duke bought all those death contracts on me?"

One more turn, and they were standing before an armed guard Beka had passed on her way in. He nodded slightly at the two of them and opened the titanium-core door to a bright wash of sunshine on white rock. Beka blinked and rubbed her eyes while Ishtar replied.

"Long before." She sounded very nonchalant. "We were never friends, of course, but our circles overlap." An unexpected chuckle hummed in her throat. "You'll be flattered to know how difficult she made life for me during that unpleasantness."

Actually, she _was_ flattered. Darjella had never told her much about the steps she had taken to… persuade the Jaguar hierarchy to persuade Charlemagne to call off his mercenaries. Ultimately, she was not sure how much effect those efforts had had, but for Ishtar to mention them now, they must have been significant.

They continued to make impersonal conversation as they walked, during which Beka had the constant suspicion that Ishtar was keeping the conversation just a notch above Beka's usual level. Even when she was not being sarcastic, the Matriarch possessed an extremely sharp intellect and not a jot of dissembling courtesy.

Soon, Beka heard the sound of shots in the distance, but the noises were so regular that she was sure it was some sort of training exercise. Just as she predicted, they turned a corner and found a wide, grassy plain stretched out before them, dotted with moving targets and the soldiers bobbing and weaving and shooting at them. After just a few moments watching the exercise, Beka could say with absolute certainty that these people were all better shots than she was, at least on this simulated battlefield.

"Nice," she called over the din, "I'm so glad to see that any one of these soldiers could take me out with a single shot."

Ishtar snorted and surveyed the field. "What would you prefer to see?" she asked.

Slowly walking around the perimeter of the firing range, Beka considered this. Well, she supposed this was a more encouraging sight than a bunch of bullets flying wildly. "Whatever it was you said you might have for me," she finally replied.

They came to a small stand of trees, somewhat cut off from the racket of the training soldiers. The shots were muffled here, but they could still watch the proceedings.

"I enjoy my displays of force as much as anyone," Ishtar said, "but I have better uses for my time. We're waiting for that something here. Two somethings, actually, both of whom I hope are impressing their instructors at the moment."

The shooting around them was not deafening, but neither did it make for easy conversation. They waited without speaking, Beka not daring to stir an inch beyond the semi-circle of trees in case something noxious lurked in the weeds. Harper had borne terrible tales of poisonous plants back on Earth, innocuous-looking things whose slightest touch gave him horrendous (and, for listeners, hilarious) rashes. The woods did smell nice, though, clean and faintly fragrant, clashing jarringly with the smells of discharged weaponry. From the sounds she heard, Beka thought she could identify at least half a dozen different kinds of guns used out on the field.

A few minutes later, the noise began to die down until just an odd shot or two echoed across the field. Beka watched as the soldiers scattered to the perimeter, singly and in small clumps of avid conversation. Two of them came jogging toward their little copse, both taller than the Matriarch and wider. They did not salute, but they held themselves as upright as any pair of eager ensigns.

The dismay of the two men upon seeing Beka was just as painfully visible as their military discipline.

"Matriarch," the sandy blond barked, "we received the instructions and await your orders."

Because she was dividing her attention between the three Nietzscheans, Beka could not be absolutely sure that she saw a tiny grin twitch at Ishtar's lips just then. In contrast to the stiff posture of the two soldiers, the Matriarch stood with one hip cocked and her arms crossed. Even so, she emanated more authority in her easy stance than the two men combined.

"Good," she said brusquely. "I'm glad to hear communications are functioning adequately. This is Captain Valentine, Bolivar's latest business partner."

Judging by their expressions, Beka would have bet that neither one of them had bothered to do any reading on the subject of those instructions.

"She's…" the other one, sporting a clean shaven scalp, sputtered.

"Not a kludge," Beka supplied helpfully. "You see, the term applies to unmodified humans, and I got some real fine tweaking outta Thalia by Ignatius. I'm also standing right here, you know."

Clean-shaven glowered at her and gave the Matriarch a questioning look. Ishtar just shrugged and relaxed further into her pose. "It's a job," she said, "I have no place in labor negotiations." She might have had no place there, but she made no move to leave.

Sandy hair's lips tightened as he looked Beka over. "You require a medic and an engineer, I understand? Wilhelm and I performed at the top of our class in those respective fields and have traveled with the Jaguar fleet in those capacities."

To be fair, Beka was sure that she did not look any happier than the men at the prospect of living on the same ship. "I can just imagine Wilhelm's bedside manner," she muttered.

"I won't hold your hand," the one she took to be Wilhelm snarled, "but I doubt you've ever had an equally capable medic. You may not be aware, but leeches are no longer the height of medical technology."

Oh, wasn't this fun? The Nietzschean had spirit. "If they came out more than ten years ago, I wouldn't expect you to know about them."

His right hand flew to the gun holstered at his hip, and Beka laughed. "First, do no harm," she chortled. "I'm sure you would defend my ship's honor to the death, but you'd probably kill me first." She did not bother to hide a yawn as she met Sandy hair's eyes. "Nikolai?"

To his credit, the young man did not glance at either Wilhelm or Ishtar but looked a little sheepish under Beka's attention. "No," she continued after a pause, "you need more experience on those tugboats you people favor before I let you touch my ship."

Another pause. "Uh, interview complete."

From behind her, Ishtar spoke up in that contralto drawl. "You've completed your service, Jaguars."

They nodded, looking a bit more certain, and jogged back to the plain, now deserted. Beka turned to Ishtar, eyes wide in an incredulous expression. "Had you ever met them before you recommended them my way?"

Incredibly, a small but definite smile danced on Ishtar's lips. "They were awaiting my orders because they saw me standing here, but they did not receive _my_ instructions. One little word, Captain, so much meaning."

Beka furrowed her brow. "What are you talking about? If you didn't try to hoist them off on me, who did?"

"Now Captain," Ishtar chided, "I can't think why that information should be relevant to this discussion."

Beka thought back to her conversation with Charlemagne and managed a thin smile. "Heinrich Sharoky, the Alpha. It was him, wasn't it? For… whatever reason," she fluttered her hand dismissively, "he doesn't want those two around."

Ishtar shook her head slowly, but Beka thought it was a gesture of wonderment, not denial. Her next words did not much clarify the situation. "As I said, not important." Her tone was light, but Beka was sure she was quite serious about not elaborating further.

They left the grove on the training field, Ishtar strolling purposefully through the fringers of the verdure as Beka followed and hoped she wasn't stepping through anything poisonous. The field was completely deserted; strain as she might, Beka could not spot a single lingering soldier. Wilhelm and Nikolai must have fled to base camp after the botched interview, she thought with a quiet laugh. Probably going to dish the dirt on Charlemagne's business partner, Valentine the Uppity Kludge.

As they rounded the plain and returned to the small compound where Ishtar kept her office, Beka began to see signs of life again and sighed with no little relief. Being taken out into the middle of the woods – or so it had felt, walking in tree shadow – by an armed Nietzschean, she could not have helped entertaining paranoid thoughts. Ishtar laughed her throaty laugh to hear Beka's sigh and chuckled again to see the Arch Duke himself waiting at the compound's entrance, glaring with distaste at dust fringing his dark ivory trousers.

Beka was not sure what sort of greeting to expect between a field marshal cum arch duke cum whatever and his matriarch, but in her imagination, a number of formal hand gestures and possibly ritual phrases figured in it. Instead, Charlemagne barely raised his head to nod at Ishtar, and in return, she snorted.

"Matriarch," Charlemagne drawled, "I hope you weren't dragging Captain Valentine through the poisonous sweetsop. Some of the new recruits have had amputations, you know."

As he spoke, Beka realized that, although physically the two Nietzscheans resembled each other very little, they both wielded a velveteen voice with great effect. Come to think of it, so had… no, never mind that. If looming proximity were the stick they used in interpersonal relations, that voice must be the carrot.

She resented being manipulated like that but mostly resented the implication that she was going to lose a foot. It might come off as a _little_ childish to hit Charlemagne, so she scuffed up a respectable puff of dust at his pants and smiled when he danced away and glared at her. On second thought, kicking dirt at him was not much more mature.

"If I let any more soldiers near her, Arch Duke," Ishtar replied, watching Beka with a faint smile although she was ostensibly addressing Charlemagne, "I would fear further injury to our forces."

"If nothing else, I'd dust up their uniforms something fierce," Beka quipped, wondering what Ishtar made of the tableau in front of her. She thought she had made a decent impression on the woman despite her early concerns, but something about Charlemagne brought out the mischievous child in her. As someone who had raised children, Ishtar had probably seen scenes like this between toddlers.

Charlemagne frowned at his shoes. "I hope your ship has better laundry facilities than mine." He looked up again. "Did I tell you, you and I have a mission? Your employer sent a courier. It's very official. Probable genocide, but no one's going to believe a Nietzschean's word that Nietzscheans were massacred."

Faced with the Jaguar Matriarch and a fleet of troops in close range, Beka could hardly refuse. She wanted to kick more dirt at Charlemagne but restrained herself. "Better laundry facilities," she said, "but less wardrobe space."

Ishtar looked between them and snorted again. "Both of you apparently regress thirty years in each other's company. I've met Captain Valentine, and as you can see, I did not lead her into the toxic undergrowth." She shook her head and turned on her heel to enter her compound, nodding at the guards as she passed them.

Beka wasn't sure if she'd just been chastised or not. If she had, it was undoubtedly Charlemagne's fault somehow or another. "Great," she said, "I still have no engineer, no medic, and instead I get to prove the good names of a bunch of… tell me they aren't Dragans."

"They're not Dragans," Charlemagne said obligingly. "Volsung, actually. Distantly related to the Kodiak."

"The Kodiak," Beka repeated flatly. "Fantastic." As she stalked away, she kicked up another puff of dirt and bit her tongue so she wouldn't giggle at Charlemagne's frantic back-steps to avoid the dust.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I know, I know, more ridiculous story lag. Laptop is back at the doctor, which is great for writing time but terrible for posting time. **

-o-

Back aboard the Path, standing her shift in Command with the remaining skeleton crew and a couple of Charlemagne's staff, Beka watched the message Darjella had sent. In a crisp charcoal and pale pink pantsuit, the woman looked almost respectable. Onscreen, the gangster tore a frothy little scarf from her neck, balled it in her fist, and threw it to the floor.

"The hardest part about buying FTA votes is blending in with the suits," Darjella complained. "I'd much rather spend some quality time with our genetically superior friends. You've probably seen by now that they have the most interesting sense of style." After pacing for a few moments, she flopped into a long, narrow seat. Beka suspected there was some kind of name for that article of furniture: something vintage Earth in any case, judging by the fabric and dimension.

"I hear you're meeting with Ishtar Nikei. Is she still wearing the straps? I admire that." She paused. "I'm rambling, I apologize. You've become a magnet recently for Nietzschean… well, diplomacy isn't the right word. If it all goes wrong and I end up with the Prides united against me and mine, I'll have to kill you, but if you can develop some lasting relationships with the right people, I'll give you the margarita recipe my kids would kill each other to get."

Darjella had children? It was jarring, somehow, to think of this woman who coordinated criminal activity and spoke so casually of having people murdered teaching toddlers to walk and talk. And like Ishtar, Darjella had recovered an amazing figure, though Beka bet that she could do the same with the best trainers, nutritionists, and surgeons money could buy.

"So I'm taking you off your usual and sending you on a… again, diplomatic isn't the right word, but a sort of friendly mission. I've attached several articles for you to read, but here's the gist of it: during their War of Unification, Volsung pirates were harassing the various and sundry peoples of Castalia. The Castalians wiped out their fleet, and the rest of the Nietzscheans were killed when the civilian habitat exploded, smoothing the path toward official peace on Castalia. Could have been an accident, suicide, or cold-blooded genocide. God knows how, Beka, 'cause I sure as hell don't, but your name came up as a potential mediator between the government of Castalia and the handful of Volsung who were off-world at the time. Since neither party really knows who you are and therefore has nothing against you, you got the job. Someone special either really likes you or really hates you, Beka. Good luck."

The message terminated, leaving Beka staring thoughtfully into the starscape on the viewscreen. It made sense, in a cynical kind of way, for someone to have nominated her for this delicate position. The Castalians, whoever and whatever they were, were unlikely to trust any Nietzschean, and the Volsung would insist on finding a person sympathetic – or at least, minimally hostile – toward Nietzscheans. Most of the fraction of the population of the Known Worlds who fit that description were strictly businesspeople who could not afford prejudices and who the Volsung probably could not, in turn, afford.

Whether she had actually been nominated or whether Darjella had nudged her name into a hat, she could not say. But once her name would have been mentioned, Beka could see all too clearly what had ensued. Beka Valentine? Working for Darjella Milein, con. Currently working in a nebulous business relationship with Arch Duke Bolivar, pro. Survived years working closely with notorious Kodiak assassin, pro. For that matter, survived years working for Darjella was pretty big pro. Scaring off poachers and setting in place poachers of her own… hard to say. At the very least, it spoke to some kind of cunning. But what had shot her to the top of the list was Darjella's assurance, Beka was certain, that Beka would investigate the case for a minor stipend, not a full consulting fee.

"You hear that, people?" Beka called to the assembled crew, "we got a job. I want you to dig up everything on Castalia, the Volsung, this War of Unification… whatever you can find."

One of Charlemagne's staff, a stocky middle-aged man who wore a beret every time Beka saw him, looked back at Beka. "Seventy-five thousand Nietzscheans died that day," he rumbled.

When he did not continue, Beka said slowly, "Um, thank you. Someone write that down." She glanced over at beret guy, who had returned to his usual stony indifference. Lance, she thought his name was. Lance Michelangelo or something. Along with their sense of style, Nietzscheans had the most interesting ideas about naming their children. With his beret, dark red that day and burnt orange the day before, Lance embodied both trends nicely.

One of his wives ducked her head, and Beka thought incredulously that she spotted a soft, fond smile on her face before she hid behind the weapons console. This same woman had nearly fired upon a Jaguar vessel who had strayed to close to the Path, and when Beka had insisted upon opening a channel instead of firing, they had discovered that the woman's half-brother was piloting the ship. She had smiled that smile again and ducked her head in just that way. Skarynet, who was by now Beka's longest-serving crewmember, exchanged a quiet look of amusement with her captain before returning to her sensors.

Later, she was recounting the episode to Charlemagne in the mess, sharing one of the pies which had begun turning up with unaccountable regularity there. She had no idea what the fluffy green mousse atop the crust was, but it was delicious.

"That would be Artesia, Lance's first wife. If the Castalians show any signs of hostility, you'll want her at weapons. If the Castalians threaten to kill everyone on board, you'll want to save her before anyone else… except me, of course." He smiled around his fork and left a smudge of green at the corner of his lips. If it were possible to engineer such a feat, she would swear that he had done that on purpose. Tyr had never stooped to such… never mind.

"Thanks for the advice, but I'm saving myself before any of you. After that, it's a coin toss." She rubbed the corner of her mouth with her thumb, but Charlemagne just smiled a little quizzically at her. "And Skarynet gets a seat in the escape pod before either of you. I've known her longer, and honestly, she's nicer." It was impossible not to smile a little as she teased the Arch Duke.

Charlemagne dropped his fork with a flourish and lay his hand over his heart. "Nicer than I?" His eyes were wide. "Captain Valentine, you wound me. Am I not the personification of nice? Nice made flesh, as it were?" He tried to look beseeching for a moment, then looked down at the pie. "You can have the last slice, if you like," he said magnanimously.

She rolled her eyes. "Even if I do, you'll still have some saved for later." Once again, she rubbed hard at her cheek and this time Charlemagne caught on. The look of surprise on his face was genuine, Beka thought with no little surprise of her own. A very faint flush of embarrassment stained his pale cheeks, but it disappeared quickly under a startled, and then hearty, laugh.

After a brief moment of shock, Beka joined in. His laughter was infectious, and he was much freer with it than… nope, not going there.

"Do you know who bakes these pies?" he asked between bouts of laughter.

Beka shook her head, unable to form an articulate response between gasps.

"Michelangelo!" he cried, and that sent them both into further gales of giggles. Beka knew just enough of Earth history to find that statement incredibly funny, and the image of the be-bereted, chiseled from granite Nietzschean fussing around the kitchen added to the hilarity. Artesia probably perched herself on a countertop and ordered him around, maybe whacked him with a wooden spoon for good measure.

Tears were streaming from her face by the time she quieted herself, still dabbing her cheeks with the back of her hands. "Where do you find them?" she finally asked when she could pronounce words again. "All my engineer ever did was litter the Machine Shops with Sparky Cola cans." She chuckled and shook her head. "No, he was a good kid. Seriously though, not even Trance made pies."

She leaned back in her chair and scraped the last puffs of green from her plate. Sighing happily, she licked the edge of her fork and let her eyes fall half-closed. She idly pulled the fork along her bottom teeth, listening to the whine of metal on her tooth enamel and enjoying the cool line on her lip.

"Beka?"

She reflected that she was glad that Charlemagne had only called her 'Rebecca' one time that she could recall. Everyone who had called her that very much, she thought suddenly, had betrayed or abandoned her in the end. What a depressing idea. She opened her eyes to see him focused wholly on her, posed lazily with his chin resting in his hand above an elbow propped on the table. But like any self-respecting Nietzschean, he used his gaze like a weapon, sparkling blue eyes pinning her to her seat and making her heart pound. Dammit.

"Is there any way I could make you reconsider my offer?" he purred. "You look so delectable like that. It's such a waste that there's no here who properly appreciates you… hasn't been for awhile, I understand."

Oh, that was low, Beka thought resentfully. Hitting below the belt, so to speak. But too many years of experience with handsome jerks had given Beka practice resisting those eyes.

"There isn't," she replied, hoping she sounded light but not dismissive. "It's not that you aren't sexy as hell because we both know you are."

He chuckled quietly at this.

"If you had found me before certain other parties, I'd probably be stupid enough to accept," she continued, still smiling to soften her words, "but you see before you a hardened woman of the world."

Usually he gave up gracefully at this point; Beka hoped dearly that he would do so again. Foolish as it might be, she had begun to think of him as a friend, and she did not like hurting the feelings of her friends. He was one of her only constant friends these days, she realized with a disconcerting jolt. The thought made her miss Trance and Harper, who had never asked anything this difficult of her. She'd rather be eating pie with them.

Charlemagne did not stop there. Somehow, he caught hold of Beka's free hand before she could retract it and brought it to his lips. Gently, he turned it so her palm faced up, and he kissed her on the sensitive skin there.

"Before I met you," he murmured in that silky voice, "I assume that you would fall like a ripe apple into my hands." He still held her hand, and his warm breath on her wrist made her shiver. Nietzscheans never played fair. As if he could hear what she was thinking, he lowered her hand back to the table and then began stroking the thin flesh at her wrist. Not fair at all.

"Then I met you, and you were madly infatuated with the Kodiak." This served to beak a little of the spell, and she tried to tug her hand away. His grip remained firm, however, and she desisted.

"You were easy to read, but not him. Not until he tried to seize command of the Path." His lips quirked. "You wondered, didn't you?"

She shook her head. "Not at the end. I'm only human, but I'd bet money I knew him as well as anybody." As much as he let anybody know him. She shrugged as best she would with one hand held captive. "He was honestly unhappy. He thinks he has this great destiny, and he won't let anything stand in his way."

"Not even the woman he loved."

Okay, that was it. How had Charlemagne thought it was a good idea to talk to her about Tyr, anyway? She jerked hand then, and he released her. Who tried to seduce somebody by telling her that someone else had loved her?

"Beka," he called just before she reached the hatch.

Reluctantly, she turned to see him walking toward her. She watched him, expressionless, as he came closer. "What is it?" she demanded when he was a little too close for comfort. "No, don't answer that. How is it I can go from thinking you're a decent guy, as far as people who've tried to kill me go, to hoping never to see you again the next?" To her shame and horror, she felt her face heat up and sensed tears prickling behind her eyes.

"It's because I lose all sense of subtlety and patience around you," he replied. "With you..." he hesitated, "and with him. I'm not offering you a lifetime, but I can make you happy right now."

Part of her believed him. All she had to do was let down her guard for a moment, and he would sweep her off her feet. Sex, attention, power, and a reliable friend for the rest of her life. It could all be hers so easily. But hardened though she proclaimed herself to be, she could not go through all of that again. Not without love, not without a future.

And maybe he could love her, in his way, and probably the Matriarchy would not object if he consorted with her for awhile, but she knew there would be a sell-by date looming, assuming he didn't get bored with her first. That part of her that wanted to say yes reminded her that she had not been in a healthy relationship in ages and that she had come to doubt whether she could belong in one.

"If you want to make me happy," she said after a long pause, "you'll let me get some sleep. I have to slip us to Volsung territory tomorrow and that's when the real fun starts." She halfway managed a wry grin, but it faded quickly when he did not respond. "You said I'm easy to read, right? Why can't you see that I'm not ready for… any of this?" She didn't want to add that she doubted she would ever be ready for the kind of friends-with-benefits relationship he seemed to be offering her. Not with him reminding her so much of Tyr sometimes.

"Wishful thinking," he answered and did eventually produce a small grin. "You're right, you have far too many demands on your attention at the moment."

"That's right, like finding you a wife." This time Beka's smile was genuine.

She returned to her quarters and after a good cold shower, flopped into bed and stared at the overhead for a while. She really did like Charlemagne, liked their easy rapport and liked that she could talk with him without all the baggage that used to accompany her conversations with Tyr. If he truly did believe her this time, that would be one less thing to weigh on her mind. All she had to worry about now was conducting an investigation into genocide with Nietzscheans on one side and public opinion on the other.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Laptop be mine again! But this chapter didn't turn out quite as I was expecting. These darn characters keep acting up. **

-o-

Beka was not certain the moment she met Dominique Mayae, but after a quarter hour's worth of conversation with the woman, she knew for sure. By the end of the day, she was even more confused about the investigation and the possible slaughter of the Volsung people, but she was humming with amusement and certainty.

In an effort to dress respectably but not uncomfortably, Beka had rummaged through every inch of wardrobe space on the Path. She had felt a little strange at first, digging through the clothes of people long-dead, but she tried to tell herself that it was just like a vintage clothing store, except it was free. Few people had actually died on board, she reminded herself, they had abandoned ship on the captain's orders and probably lived happily ever after.

Eventually, she had found what she thought was the perfect happy medium: soft, fawn-colored trousers that hugged her legs and a sleeveless tunic in maroon with buttons slanted across the collarbone. Her reflection in the mirror had tugged at a memory, but she ignored it. Charlemagne's surprised blink at her appearance should have alerted her, she thought later, but at the moment she had been too busy being nervous to think much of him.

Beka doubted she would ever forget the first five minutes of her acquaintance with Ms. Mayae. The airlock had opened with a hiss, and Beka had stridden out, feeling very proud of her ship and of Charlemagne, walking slightly behind and to her left. However much Beka had argued that this investigation was none of his business, he had insisted on accompanying her, claiming that he would serve as a reminder that she had powerful friends and could not be browbeaten or threatened. She only gave in because she suspected Darjella might side with him if pressed.

The temporary home of the Volsung was not much to look at, a wayward asteroid captured and deflected into orbit around Castalia. The hangar was roughly hewn from the greenish, brown-streaked rock, and to complete the unimpressive picture, Dominique was the only Nietzschean Beka had ever met who was shorter than her.

Then Dominique's lip had curled and she almost spat at Beka. "What is _that?_" she hissed.

Beka's glance went involuntarily to Charlemagne, but he looked almost as astounded as she felt. She looked back. "I… what?"

"Is this your idea of a joke, Captain?" Beka doubted she had ever heard the word invested with such dripping disdain.

Beka wanted to look down at herself to see if she had morphed into a Magog or something, but the same Beka as always met her eyes. "I promise you, it isn't," she replied, making no effort to hide the confusion in her voice.

Charlemagne took a step toward Beka and, though Dominique's eyes were trained on Beka, she threw up a warning hand. "Stay back, this is none of your affair." Slowly, she swung her gaze from Beka to Charlemagne, and Beka followed suit.

It was a very small comfort to see that he was just as perplexed as she was, wearing not a trace of a laconic grin on his face. "I see no need for your presence here at all, unless you believe I plan to harm Captain Valentine." Her voice could have frozen an exploding supernova. Charlemagne was speechless, mouth gaping slightly, so she continued. "Then if you do not fear for her life, I suggest you return to _her_ ship and await her return."

He seemed to recover from his shock and made a deep bow first in Beka's direction and then in Dominique's. "Ladies," he murmured, and then left without a further word.

Beka stared after him. Never had she ever imagined she would see Charlemagne so thoroughly dismissed. And put his place, with Dominique's emphasis that the ship belonged to Beka. She was torn between running after him to give him a friendly hug and cheering.

After watching his retreating back for a moment, Dominique returned her attention to Beka. "You think I was too harsh with him?" she asked curtly.

Beka shook her head slowly. "No, it's not that. I've just never seen him shut up like that." She continued to stare, unable to help herself.

Dominique snorted. "I do not know him personally, but he has a reputation very like my Alpha's. I know how to handle such men."

Beka tore her eyes from the unique sight to regard Dominique more closely. Despite her surprise and vague discomfort, she found herself biting back a smile. Dominique did know to handle him, at that. An idea had planted itself in her mind and blossomed as the day continued.

She never did find out what had offended Dominique, Beka reflected as she made her goodbyes. They had passed a long day together, emotionally intense as Dominque recounted in a tightly controlled voice the Volsung's death toll and the hours that had led up to the explosion. She presented theory after theory about the origin of the explosion and later had flown Beka down to the site of the explosion, pointing out the bits of debris that had not yet fallen to the planet.

"The thing is," Beka recounted between bites later that night, "she has no evidence for any of it." She was sharing a late night supper with Charlemagne, who, under his usual lazy façade, was eager to hear every detail of her day.

"She doesn't need any, as far as any Nietzschean or anyone who understands us will tell you." He did not sound angry, though, he sounded like he was playing devil's advocate, presenting a logical argument to see how she would react.

"I know, I know," she replied. "Nietzscheans don't commit suicide. I'll never claim to understand you people, but I know that. Where's the life, there's hope, et cetera. But a platitude isn't gonna convince anybody that the Castalians masterminded genocide."

Charlemagne nodded. "Precisely. If not for that niggling little detail, I would dismiss the idea as ludicrous."

"You aren't helping."

They sat in silence for awhile, Beka thinking over everything she had seen and heard today. If she were honest, she would have to say that she had been a little disappointed by the display. Dominique Mayae was a deeply impressive character, but her arguments in favor of planned genocide had all boiled down to emotional exhibitions. Still, Beka was not going to make up her mind after a few hours.

She glanced at Charlemagne again and remembered the image of his retreating figure, shrinking to a doll beside the huge Path. Her mouth twitched in a smile. "I'm curious," she said suddenly, "what did you think of Dominique?"

Charlemagne tilted his head a little, the way he did sometimes when he tried to think of something clever to say. "It's difficult to know," he finally replied, "I was not permitted to bask in her presence for long."

After the stress of the day, Beka was glad for the laugh. "True enough. But come on, you can't tell me that you haven't formed some kind of first impression of her."

"My first impression is that it would be wise to defer judgment." He peered at her closely. "And why are you so interested in my opinion? You spent much more time with her and must know her better than I do."

Beka tried to suppress her growing amusement, but it was hopeless. He saw through her in an instant and chuckled. "Do you despise me that much, or do you simply have a twisted idea of marital bliss?"

She giggled. "She told me herself that she knows how to _handle_ men like you, Charlemagne, and Divine know you need it. Come on, think about it. You don't need another girl from an enemy Pride to plot your assassination, which rules out the two largest Prides in the Known Worlds. She's very smart, catering to human sentimentality; she'll learn pretty soon that it's not gonna work on me. She badgered the Castalians into re-opening the investigation, and she badgered the Alpha into letting her represent the Volsung case."

Charlemagne sat back on the wide ledge by the viewscreen where they sat, staring at the overhead. Beka sparkled with energy and amusement, but his next words deflated her a little.

"I feel I must warn you that such a proposal is going to look very strange coming from you, Captain."

Beka felt herself flush and she glanced away hastily to the starscape. "She's not the type to worry about _that_. I don't think she would really care one way or another, to tell the truth."

He shook his head and looked at her. A grin danced on his lips. "You misunderstand me. The exact details of matchmaking vary between the Prides, but a few things are constant. The only women who ever make such an overture are a man's mother, his Matriarch, and his senior wife. If you drop the smallest hint that you desire her to marry me, she will assume that you are my lover."

Beka squeezed her eyes shut and fell with a thud against the low cushions. She rifled through her memories of the day, trying to recall if she had said anything Dominique might interpret in that light. She did not think she had, but the very idea made her panic a little. A moment later she opened them and glared at Charlemagne. "Well, it's not like you can't make the first move, Casanova."

He laughed outright this time. "In most prides, including Jaguar and Volsung, a man who aggressively pursues a woman is seen as extremely desperate. Like any breach of manners, such a misstep may be forgiven, but it is never forgotten."

"Extremely desperate?" Beka asked rather sharply. "But it's okay when you're harassing human women?"

He shrugged, still visibly amused at the idea of wooing Dominique. "Your human mores are impossible to predict. A little consistency would make your people much more universally liked."

"Why not, it worked so well for Nietzscheans," Beka muttered. When she caught Charlemagne's eye, he just smiled, and she chuckled, a little sheepishly. The tense moment had passed, if it had not just been in her head to begin with, and they were still friends.

After a moment of companionable silence, Charlemagne resumed the conversation. "I will not attempt to discourage you, Beka, but you must know how she will probably react. I'm sure you're quite mad for thinking of it, but there may be merit to the idea."

Beka pushed her plate to the floor, sat up again, and snorted much as Dominique had. "How flattering." She watched him, sprawled out on the windowseat as he often was at the time in the evening, and felt a strange tug in her chest. She knew her idea was a good one, but she would be the tiniest bit sad to see him leave, to lose this camaraderie. An urge to hug him swept over her for the second time that day.

He watched her watching him and closed his eyes under her scrutiny. "I'm sure you would hate to lie to such an admirable woman," he said lazily. "as much as you would hate to disappoint her."

She laughed, and the spell broke. "Get out," she ordered with a chuckle, "and take these plates with you."

He rolled gracefully to his feet, plates in hand, and made that same bow to her. "As my lady commands." As Beka had come to learn was his habit, he paused by the door for a parting comment. "One more thing. I believe I know why Dominique was so annoyed with you this morning."

Beka raised an eyebrow. "Well good, I'd like to know so I don't do it again."

"I thought it was quite funny myself, had no idea what to make of you."

She tapped her foot impatiently. "Don't keep me in suspense."

"That outfit you're wearing… which looks very becoming on you, I have to say… it's modeled on a High Guard uniform."

A glance in a nearby mirror confirmed it, and Beka wanted to smack herself in the head. "I knew it looked familiar! No wonder she hissed at me. Probably thought I was making fun of her or something."

When she looked away from the mirror, she saw that Charlemagne was now mimicking her, tapping his own foot.

"Was there something else?" she asked, a little annoyed but mostly amused.

He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. "Just a thank-you. I've just saved you from a major social faux pas, and what do I get?"

Beka lunged forward and, uncaring of the plates he held, hit him none too softly on the shoulder. "That's all you're going to get from me, Arch Duke," she said in mock irritation as she whacked him.

He fumbled and dropped the dishes, though Beka suspected he could have held on to them if he had really tried. The wicked grin he wore confirmed it. "There's only one way I'm leaving now," he said.

Beka scoffed and rolled her eyes, enjoying herself immensely. "Don't make me hit you again."

"Go ahead." He rubbed his shoulder and looked tragic. "Because I am going to remain right here in this very spot until you… what's the expression?... kiss it and make it better."

Oh, so this was his game. Soften her up, the previous day with pie and now with interest in her opinions, and then pounce. Well, she was not going to be pushed around by him anymore, Arch Duke of a major Pride or not. By the time she was through with him, he was going learn that once and for all.

She eyed his flimsy shirt for a moment and nodded. In one smooth motion, she gripped the collar and ripped as hard as she could along the tiny jeweled clasps that held the shirt closed. His eyes popped, and she had to make a very great effort not to laugh. She ran a hand under his arm and up the bare skin of his exposed back, feeling goosebumps rise on his skin. With a small step, she was pressed up against him and staring up him under lowered eyelashes.

"As my Lord commands," she purred. Standing on her toes, she kissed her way from his smooth pectorals to his shoulder. She lathed a slightly reddened area with her tongue and, upon hearing the almost breathless gasps he made, began sucking the spot. She hoped she would leave a hicky, though a moment later it occurred to her that Nietzschean nanobots might heal a bruise like that overnight.

She stopped her sensuous ministrations and looked back up at him, now almost face to face. His blue eyes were dark and slightly hazy as he returned her gaze. "All better?" she asked coyly.

He licked his lips and nodded. "Much."

"In that case," she said slowly, "maybe you should…" She paused as her hands crept up to his chest and came to rest, palms flat. Her lips curved. "Get the hell outta here and let me sleep," she continued in her normal voice as she shoved him, not hard enough that he fell but so forceful that he stumbled outside into the corridor. The hatch slid closed behind him with a hiss.

She laughed all the way through her nightly routine before she fell into bed, still laughing. A kernel of guilt lingered in her, though, and she could not sleep immediately for re-playing the scene over and over in her head. His body, firm against hers. Desire in his eyes. The endearing little noises of surprise and arousal he had made.

She turned over in bed and hugged a pillow hard. Well, uncomfortable as she was now, if he stopped trying to seduce her, she would count it worth a sleepless night. At least, she was pretty sure it would.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** Look, an update within a reasonable amount of time! I'm so proud! I hope a reader or two is out there enjoying this despite my terribly erratic updates :).

-o-

When Beka's alarm blared the next morning, she groaned and rolled over, muffling her ears with the pillow she'd clutched all night. It didn't help, of course; the alarm grew louder and louder as time elapsed, and with a frustrated shout, she stumbled to her feet and ordered it off. She stared morosely at her reflection in the mirror, then trudged to the bathroom. The hot water was off again, and although she could have used a cold shower the night before, the incident only served to heighten her wrath.

In the mess, sitting beside the milk in the fridge was a new pie, covered with mounds of toasted meringue. She glared at it for a moment and returned to her room without eating. When she finished throwing on another outfit she had spent too much time picking out, she asked for the time and discovered that she was running a quarter of an hour late. She could not imagine how that was possible, when she had neither showered nor breakfasted as long as usual.

She clambered into the Maru, having decided to leave the Andromeda in Skarynet's hands for the day, and sped toward Castalia, where a member of the president's cabinet awaited her. He sighed loudly when she left the Maru's airlock, and the noise echoed around the enormous hangar.

The man awaiting her wore a complicated contraption, presumably the device which allowed him to breathe the air. He was very pale, with blue spots like scales marching down his temples. "I am Triton Abadur, undersecretary of State." He extended a stiff hand to her, which proved to be clammy and limp upon shaking.

"The President wanted to be here to welcome you aboard," he whined, "but he was called away by business. He is a very busy man."

Beka barely kept a straight face. "As presidents often are. Well, I'm yours for the day. Convince me that President Chandos did not extirpate the Volsung." Dominque had used that word yesterday, and she had made a mental note of it. Extirpate. It sounded very serious.

"You've obviously met with Mayae already," the man sneered at her. "All I need to do is show you the results of the official investigation. Our people did a thorough job, as you will see." His eyes narrowed, and he started to say something else, but closed his mouth abruptly and appeared to think something over. "You mean President Lee."

"Lee?" Beka asked. "I thought Chandos was your president." This was just getting more and more embarrassing.

"He is, but Sebastian Lee was president when the accident occurred."

"Alleged accident," Beka snapped. "I'll need to see all documentation of the incident, as well as the investigation and any memoirs the president may have left behind."

The device on the man's chest bubbled as he glared at her. "Let us be clear, Captain. You are here as a courtesy to the Volsung survivors, but you have no official standing with the president."

Beka gritted her teeth and sat through a day of video and memos flickering across a viewscreen in an empty conference room. Not only was it all immensely boring, but she could not see a single hole in any of it. The scatter and composition of the debris, what they could find, aligned perfectly with the munitions misfire conjectured to have caused the explosion. What was more, Beka could see little reason for President Lee to sabotage the habitat; the Volsung were already defeated, and from what she had learned of the man, he was a builder, not a destroyer.

The only shady detail Beka noticed during the entire course of her investigation was the death of the former president. Three days before he was to transfer power to Chandos, he died of an assassin's bullet. The accused was a diplomat from a minor planet, who escaped in a shuttle to his very well-defended home, proclaiming his innocence all the while. Beka thought she might as well contact the man, maybe even get some vacation on her meager expense account if he insisted on talking to her in person. She hoped he would.

Just as she was finally making her way back to the Maru, Beka found a figure leaning a little too casually against her ship. Short, slender… Beka caught a gleam of a blond curl and almost screamed with frustration. Dominique Mayae pushed herself off the bulkhead and strode toward Beka, face set with just a touch of tightness around her eyes and mouth.

"What have you found?" she demanded without preamble.

Beka made a disgusted noise and keyed open the Maru's airlock. "I'll see you tomorrow," she promised, "but I am exhausted right now. People are going to think you're threatening me, and I'm not inclined to tell them otherwise."

"I have no mode of transportation back to the asteroid," she said in an oddly defiant tone of voice. "I would be greatly obliged if you would take me home."

Beka hurried through the airlock, hoping it would hiss shut again before Dominique made it through, but no such luck. Her brisk footsteps echoed and clattered on the grille. "It would serve you right if I left you behind. See how the Castalians like you sneaking on their base."

"Captain-" Dominique began, somewhat huffily, but Beka cut her off.

"I'll take you back to your rock, but don't count on winning any points this way." Beka said as she strapped herself into the familiar pilot's seat and started the liftoff sequence. Normally at this point she warned her passengers to hold on, but she was so annoyed with Dominique that she hoped the woman did take a tumble during launch.

After a few silent minutes, Beka spoke up again. "You have to know the case they're making. It's airtight."

Dominique was hanging on tightly to a nearby console. When she replied, Beka was shocked to hear a note of despair in those clipped tones. "I know very well what they have shown you. I mean no insult, but it may be difficult for you to understand the vitriol in those days toward the Volsung. That my people were killed near the end of the War of Unification, just as Castalia was looking toward the future, was simply too convenient to be coincidental."

Beka sighed. In a strange reversal of the usual, the Nietzscheans were the underdog here, and she had always had a weakness for that. "There is one lead I have," she said grudgingly. "That's all you're gonna get from me, though. I'm going to contact him as soon as I get to my ship." She hesitated, guessing that this was terrible time to bring up the other item that weighed on her mind. Then again, if she did not find any evidence to support Dominique's claim, there would be no good time anyway.

She glanced sidelong at Dominique, who kept her face carefully blank but nearly vibrated with tension. "There is one other thing," Beka began slowly. "It's um… It's a personal matter. Nothing to do with this investigation." She paused. "At least, not directly."

A slight widening of her eyes belied Dominique's curiosity. "What is it?"

Beka glanced down at her sensors, hoping the trip was almost over. She feared that Dominique's refusal of her proposal would leave them sitting in an awkward silence, not only for the duration of this voyage but for the rest of their time together. But she could not turn back now.

"I was thinking… I'm sorry, I really don't know how to go about this," she admitted with a weak chuckle. "It's not something I've ever had to think about." Dominique watched her patiently, and Beka suspected that she saw the tiniest quirk of amusement around her lips. "It's about Arch Duke Bolivar. I was very, um, impressed by the way you… handled him yesterday, and it made me… wonder…" She trailed off and hoped Dominique would catch her meaning.

They stared at each other for a silent beat, and then a definite grin crossed Dominique's face. "I think I understand. Captain Valentine, are you proposing that I take the Arch Duke as my husband?"

Beka let out a long breath and nodded. At least that part of the conversation was over. "Yes, exactly. I know it's a little forward and probably highly inappropriate, given our working relationship."

Now Dominique was studying her, head tilted to one side, as if she were seeing Beka in a whole new light. "Then it's true," she said wonderingly. "You are his… his consort."

This was another moment Beka had been fearing, ever since she had discussed this with Charlemagne. She thought quickly; technically, she did consort with him, if by 'consort' she meant 'associate'. Beka knew very well what Dominique meant, and while she did not trust herself to outright lie to the woman without being caught, she had no problem making false implications.

"Yes," she replied almost immediately and tried to look modest. "You don't sound surprised."

Dominique looked thoughtful for a moment. "I had heard rumors of your relationship with the Kodiak Anasazi. It was considered quite ridiculous, a slur on both of you. But then Anasazi disappeared, and you emerged with your ship on the arm of the Arch Duke. The rumors began again, and here you are, living on the same ship as Bolivar. No, I cannot say I am surprised."

Beka pretended to study her console very closely as she fought to keep a straight face. So the latest gossip making the rounds was that she had _killed_ Tyr? Oh, that was too precious. And good for her, she thought with a touch of pride. She wondered if that had contributed to the Castalian government's decision to allow her to conduct this investigation; she had supposedly demonstrated her ability to keep one Nietzschean in line.

"Well," she asked when she had composed herself again, "what do you say? You'd be his First Wife, you know." She fidgeted a little during the long pause that followed and rejoiced that they were nearing the rock-hewn hangar of the Volsung asteroid.

"I will speak with the Matriarch," Dominique finally answered. "It is an intriguing proposal." She lapsed into silence for a moment, then turned to look at Beka directly and spoke again. "And will you retain your relationship with Bolivar if he and I should wed?"

Beka opened her mouth, then closed it. For half a minute, all she could do was try not to gape at Dominique. "I… I wouldn't want to step on your toes," she replied carefully. Charlemagne had never mentioned whether a lover was expected to remain a lover after her significant other married.

Dominique's eyebrows rose by a hair. "You must not think me heartless." A touch of affronted dignity colored her voice. "Though you are not a Nietzschean or married to him, as his consort you do have rights. You misunderstand me."

She hesitated, and Beka realized with some shock that the woman was choosing her next words with great care. "I simply hope that you would not deprive me of my husband when you no longer wish to associate with him."

Beka had to bite her lips and clench her fists as hard as she could not to break out in wild laughter. Dominique was afraid that she would dispose of Charlemagne like she was supposed to have disposed of Tyr when she got sick of him. It struck her as very strange that the woman could ask such a question of the person with whom she planned to share her husband. She did not quite know what to make of it but assumed that her good qualities were seen to outweigh her tendency to kill her Nietzschean lovers when they bored her.

"Well," she replied in what he hoped was a casual voice, "as long as he doesn't betray me like… Anasazi did, I'm sure I won't see any reason to treat him the same way."

Dominique gave a small, understanding nod. To her, it apparently sounded completely reasonable that Beka would promise not to kill Charlemagne so long as he was nice to her. "Then I shall be proud to call him husband and you sister."

Sister. Huh. Beka had never had a sister before but doubted that she and Dominique would ever end up painting each other's toenails. She wondered distantly if Nietzschean women ever got pedicures. She sneaked a glance at Dominique's hands, gripping the armrests of a seat she'd slid into, and noticed that they were very well tended. Perhaps the very low-ranking members of the Pride performed such menial tasks as manicures.

"Me too," Beka replied. Her mouth was dry, and she noticed that her hands were clammy. She fervently hoped Dominique wouldn't take their time alone to ask about Charlemagne's skill in bed. _At least give me a day or two_, she thought, _to make something up._

To her great relief, the Volsung cleared them to land a minute later, and soon Beka had escorted Dominique to the door with a promise to discuss the matter further. She returned to her ship as quickly as she could and hurried to the mess, where she ordered a cup of hot tea from the Path's dicey autochef. It delivered something steaming and fragrant, a different variety than what she'd ordered but close enough.

She slouched in one of the chairs and let the aromatic cloud envelop her. It was too hot to sip just yet, so she closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, alternately thanking the Divine that Dominique had accepted and panicking about what that acceptance meant for the future. The woman was going to discover, if not sooner then later, that Beka in fact was not Charlemagne's lover and had rejected the offer several times.

"Could've thought that one through a little more," she murmured into her teacup. "Ah, it's for the best."

She sipped her tea and pondered the issue for awhile, savoring the silence that settled around her. For this half hour, at least, no one was asking anything of her. She tried to relax, but her mind insisted on returning to Charlemagne and Dominique. Beka was certain that Dominique would react badly upon learning that she had misrepresented herself, but it was the height of silliness to consider jumping into bed with Charlemagne just to please his future wife.

And that led naturally into Beka re-examining her reasons for _not_ jumping into bed with Charlemagne. The more she thought about it, the more she became convinced that it was not the bed she objected to as much as the jumping. Well, she was wary of the bed and of the whole affair would wreak on her, but it appeared that the sell-by date she had been fearing might not come so soon after all. That assumed she could deal with Charlemagne marrying Dominique, which was far from certain.

The fact remained, though, that there might be a future. And for Charlemagne to be so determined, maybe he could come to love her. Deep down, she knew she was afraid that once again she would fall for a man who could not or would not allow himself to return her feelings, but he had shown no signs of that.

So. Where did this leave her? She was reluctant to jump into something with Charlemagne, but by the time her tea was down to the dregs, she was determined that she would try something. As she thought, she tapped the teacup with her fingernails, and she almost dropped it when the answer occurred to her.

She laughed aloud and dashed out of the mess to the Obs deck, where the Path maintained a lush hydroponics garden. Trance had tended it too, once upon a time, and it was flourishing even in her absence. After several minutes' perusal, Beka grabbed a pair of shears Trance had left and began cutting a few of the blossoms. She forbade herself to stop and worry about what she was doing and instead strode to Charlemagne's quarters so quickly that she was out of breath by the time she arrived.

She juggled the bouquet to her other hand and wiped her sweaty palm on her shirt. After calming her breath, she rang the chime and pasted a bright smile on her face. For a distraction, she wondered how Charlemagne had decorated his quarters; she could hardly believe that she had never seen them.

The door slid open to reveal the Arch Duke, wearing a thin dressing gown over silken trousers. His hair was slicked back to his skull, and droplets of water clung to his chest. "Captain Valentine," he said in a warm, surprised voice. "This is a pleasant surprise." He glanced at the flowers. "Shall I put those somewhere?" His eyes lingered on her, quizzical, as he turned to admit her into his quarters.

"Oh, yeah, good idea." She edged past him and gazed around her. Through another hatch, she could see his bedroom and tried not to blush. Elaborate tapestries decorated his suite, depictions of events she could not begin to depict. Where a tapestry did not cover the bulkhead, simple curtains of violet hung in every shade between red and blue. A low table set with a silver tea service sat near scattered thick cushions. All in all, it looked like the preservation of a historically significant manor or maybe an extremely classy brothel.

Charlemagne returned after a moment with a cut glass vase filled with water and the flowers. "Thank you," he said, "they're lovely." He watched her for a moment and smiled. "Make yourself comfortable. May I ask to what I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Despite his smile and polite warmth, she could see that he was confused. He was also behaving just a shade more stiffly than usual with her, probably annoyed with her after last night. While she did not exactly feel guilty, she did hope she had not put him through too much… discomfort.

"Oh, you know," she said lightly, easing herself on a pile of cushions. "Just dropped by to… see your quarters. They're very nice. Um, I have news for you."

He sat down near her but not close enough to touch her. She knew by now how he liked to sprawl, and on these cushions he could do so to the full extent of his limbs. "What news is that?"

She looked down at her hands and took a deep breath. "I spoke with Dominique about… about marrying you. I mean, about her marrying you. She seemed to like the idea." She glanced up at him and looked away again to the vase. "But there's another thing." She was being ridiculous, she told herself. This was hardly the first time she'd asked out a guy who was too shy to approach her. The situation wasn't quite the same, but there was no reason for her to be this nervous.

She took another breath and this time kept steady eye contact with him. He raised an eyebrow, and suddenly Beka felt all her tension melt away. She could not imagine why; maybe he just looked too good for her to think about feeling nervous, lounging like that and completely focused on her. A grin spread across her face. "Get a shirt on," she ordered. "We're going on a date."


	19. Chapter 19

**Misti Wolanski – **I already replied to your reviews in more detail, but I want to thank you again for your detailed and thought-provoking words.

Readers, I must warn you. This chapter is nothing but fluffy fluff, with just a touch of not-so-fluffy at the end. But mostly fluff. If anyone recognizes the landscape I describe, you win a million gold stars.

-o-

The cool façade he had been maintaining so far slipped for a moment, betraying his shock. He smoothed his face again quickly, but now he wore the smile she was used to seeing when they were together.

"Yes, ma'am," he said solemnly and, with a tiny bow, disappeared into his bedroom.

Beka averted her eyes and kept them fastened to the tapestries. One of them, she noted with a grin, depicted a space battle. A fleet of ships of Commonwealth military design fired bright missiles at a hodgepodge of ships with a few Nietzschean designs she barely recognized. The Nietzschean ships were firing even more weapons, depicted with threads so violently red and blue and green they seemed to glow. At intervals, eye-searing orange and yellow flames engulfed Commonwealth ships. Beka suspected that the artist had never witnessed a real firefight in space.

If she had to guess, she would say that the tapestry depicted the Nietzschean rebellion against the Commonwealth, a war which neither side had truly won. The Nietzscheans had succeeded in bringing down a millennia-old civilization, but they too had crumbled in the years following. Beka could not imagine what Charlemagne meant by having it here; perhaps he just found it amusing to tack such a piece of art to the bulkhead of a Commonwealth ship.

While she was still studying the tapestry, Charlemagne emerged from his bedroom. She made no attempt to hide her own surprise; he looked as chic as ever, but she had never seen him wear this kind of style before. Except for the boneblades she could not help but see, he looked like a very nostalgic kludge in a snug t-shirt inscribed with characters she did not recognize and tight denim trousers.

"Oh my God," she breathed, employing an ancient kludge expression for the occasion. "Let me see those." She circled him and spied the distinctive label on the waistband of his jeans. "These things are older than your race, Charlemagne Bolivar."

He chuckled. "I've never been on a date before; I was feeling whimsical. If you stay there, Beka, I'm going to begin to suspect that you aren't really interested in the label."

Rolling her eyes and scoffing, Beka took a few steps so she was facing him. "Hilarious as always." She wanted to ask about the sudden change in his mood, tease him about it, but figured that this was not the best time. Maybe during their date when they were both feeling mellow she would bring it up.

"I aim to please." He paused, and Beka could have sworn she detected a flicker of uncertainty in his expression. Of course not. "Is this appropriate attire for a date?"

Beka laughed. This was going to be even more fun than she had thought. "For dinner you're fine. Back when everyone wore those things," she nodded at his jeans, "you might've had a hard time getting into the really nice places. Where did you get them, anyway?"

Charlemagne hooked a thumb in the belt loops and tugged experimentally. She wondered if he had ever worn them before and why he bothered to spend a lot of money on them if they had been destined to hang in his closet for the rest of his life. "Fascinating," he murmured.

He raised his voice back to a conversational level. "Human popular culture before first contact is a special interest of mine. It has always seemed a good idea to understand the stock from which my people sprang."

"So, what, you troll vintage stores on your days off?"

"You see the most interesting people," he replied, utterly unselfconscious.

A mental image of Charlemagne pawing through a bargain bin flashed through Beka's head, and she chortled. "And I'm sure you know the pieces that will sell for millions at auction."

"I do have a perfectly preserved collection of ladies' shoes that could probably purchase several very pleasant planets," he agreed. "Some of them would likely be banned in certain societies as heinous torture devices."

Beka winced. She had seen the same historical holovids as everyone else. Hell, those things could be banned as weapon in certain very polite societies.

"I gotta admit," she began, "I really haven't thought this whole date thing through. Dinner's a traditional, um, activity for dates, especially first dates, so if you know of anything good, I'm all ears." More like all eyes, she told herself. Charlemagne generally did not go in for clothes that molded themselves to him like his present ensemble did. Compared to certain other parties, he was slender, but like any Nietzschean man with an ounce of self-respect, he sported a beautiful musculature lovingly accented by his t-shirt. Beka looked back at the tapestry.

"I have an idea," he said after a moment's thought and refused to reveal it to Beka until they arrived at a planet she'd never heard of, which did not say much either way as Beka made it a point to avoid giant, unpredictable, storm-ridden balls of dirt as much as she could. Despite her nonstop wheedling, all she got out of him was a promise that they possessed one of the best climate regulatory systems in the Known Worlds, which was some little comfort.

When Beka docked the Maru, she stepped out from the hangar to a flower-scented breeze and glacial blue sunshine from twin stars burning in an orange sky. After just a few minutes in a silent hover transport, Charlemagne pointed out their destination. When they disembarked, he stood still for a moment and held out a hand, wearing a quizzical expression on his face.

"Yes?" Beka asked, eyebrows raised.

Charlemagne gave her a slow smile. "It is my understanding that it is customary for people on a date to hold hands." His eyes were wide and sparkling blue. "Will you hold my hand?"

Beka couldn't help it; she burst out laughing. This was too much like the cover to a trashy romance holovid. "I haven't held hands with anyone since the Salvage Guild's Debutante Ball. Considering how that turned out, I haven't done it since."

"In the interest of human-Nietzschean relations," Charlemagne said in what she recognized as his ambassadorial tone of voice, "I ask you most sincerely to hold my hand."

There was nothing to be done, she realized, but to do as he asked. It was not so laborious a chore, just odd. With a put-upon sigh, she took his hand and twined her fingers with his. He gripped her hand firmly, his palm warm and dry and superficially soft, but underneath the skin she could feel the potential strength in the small bones there.

"Lovely," he remarked before leading her to their destination.

As they walked, Beka had to admit that a planet as strictly regulated as this one to please every sense might not be such a waste of real estate. They stopped at the entrance to a little valley behind two hills, and immediately a uniformed Makra padded forward to greet them.

"Welcome to the valley," he purred. "Arch Duke, what a pleasure to see you again." It came as no surprise that Charlemagne frequented this place; it was beautiful and decadent and probably very expensive.

A dark gold river dappled with azure starshine wound from distant mountains and foothills down through the valley to disappear behind another gentle swell of land. Bright scarlet grass grew underfoot like a plush rug, and silver leaves rustled a constant hum in the background.

"I should have timed this for sunrise," Charlemagne murmured as the server guided them. "You must see it sometime, the twin suns rising over the mountains. The leaves seem to burn in the light."

At irregular intervals, Beka saw couples and small groups of people sitting at low tables, humans cross-legged and Makra curled up with boneless grace. She noticed few other species, though she thought she heard the distinctive Than chitter in the distance. They walked long enough for Charlemagne to explain a little about this place, that the Makra who had discovered this planet had needed to reform it only a little to suit their needs. This particular establishment served a fusion of Makra riverine cuisine and, of all things, old Earth sushi.

Finally, their server slowed and offered them a secluded riverside spot with one of the low tables. He bowed very low when Charlemagne voiced his approval, produced two thin cylinders from a pocket, and disappeared. The cylinders contained a roll of thick pulp sheets inscribed with elaborate calligraphy. Beka could barely read the Common, and comprehension of the words did not help her understand the offerings.

"I realize that this is very presumptuous of me," Charlemagne began, "but it might be best if you allow me to place an order for you."

Well, at least he had asked. Beka agreed. She had eaten a lot of weird things in her life and the only food she really disliked were the squirming grubs and worms regarded as Nightsider delicacies. As Charlemagne continued to speak about the planet and its inhabitants, Beka leaned against the trunk of a tree with weeping branches that trailed in the river. Tiny aquamarine petals swirled in the breeze and landed in her hair.

"This place is amazing," she said almost dreamily. "You don't suppose they're looking for a resident gang lieutenant, do you?"

Charlemagne regretfully replied that he doubted it, but before he could finish the thought, the server reappeared. He rattled off their order, and, after only a few minutes' absence, the server returned with a tray of glasses and a large platter dotted with brightly colored shapes arranged in fastidious order. Shallow wells ringed the edge of the platter, filled with glossy sauces.

"I get that we eat these," Beka said as she pointed to the platter, "but what do we eat them with?" She decided not to ask what it was until she had made up her mind whether she liked it or not.

Charlemagne waggled his fingers. "It's all part of the experience," he answered laconically in response to her wide-eyed disbelief. "Dive in." He made it sound dirty.

She recognized some of the shapes as seafood, extraordinarily fresh and delicately flavored, but others remained a mystery. They ate slowly, tasting every one of the sauces. Charlemagne laughed at the faces Beka made, mostly ecstasy interspersed with the occasional grimace and teary-eyed exclamations when she ate something that burned her mouth.

The glasses proved to hold ordinary water, which was a great relief after the spicy green paste. After they finished, Beka lounged against the tree again with a glass of water and watched the pale dapples dance on the river. Charlemagne slid around the low table and slouched beside her. They remained silent as they digested, and Beka found the distance between the two of them decreasing inch by inch as minutes passed.

Eventually, she was mildly surprised to discover that their hips and shoulders pressed together. "Well," she said, "fancy meeting you here."

He grinned at her and took her hand again. "How is this rating so far as a date?"

Beka riffled the velvety grass with her free hand and watched the reflections from the silver leaves marble the shade. "Colorful," she said thoughtfully. When he raised an eyebrow, she laughed. "Very nice. Also would make good real estate shopping."

She looked around again, strained her eyes to the mountains in the distance, and sighed. "I have a long way to go tomorrow to track down my one very slim lead." Gently disentangling her fingers, she stood and brushed her trousers to dislodge any stray pieces of red grass. She shook her head and combed her hair with her fingers, sending flower petals flying in the breeze.

Beka made automatic responses to whatever it was Charlemagne was talking about when they returned to the Maru, but her brain was not in it. She could not figure out just how she felt right now, winding down her first date with this man. One of her first real dates ever, she reminded herself dryly. The spacers she'd known and loved rarely for fancy dinners and flowers, and they always went dutch. At no point during their evening had the server asked for any sort of payment, come to think of it, but perhaps Charlemagne had a tab there.

The planet was gorgeous, of course, and Charlemagne behaved in his usual charming manner. Sitting against the tree with him, almost leaning on him, she had felt peaceful and comfortable, but it was already over, and her mind was returning to larger concerns. Soon – she had no idea how long it would take to arrange a wedding – he would leave with his new wife, and no matter how willing Dominique was to support Beka's relationship with Charlemagne, whatever it really was, she knew the marriage would create a great distance between them.

The more she thought about it, the more this seemed like a stupid idea. She could only vaguely recall her motivations in bringing him the flowers and dragging him on a date. At her side, Charlemagne continued to speak, but he shot these concerned looks at her like he knew she wasn't paying attention but was too polite to remark on it. Or too worried about her reaction, a reasonable assumption considering the night before.

But flying the Maru again, her malaise could not hold, and after a few minutes of flight time, she felt herself wake up again, conversing more freely and with more laughter. Tension she had not noticed before in Charlemagne's face melted away, and when she closed the slip portal behind her, Beka realized that she was disappointed that their date was over.

Their footsteps took them out of force of habit to Beka's quarters, and with a start she remembered that dates had to end, formally. In spite of his professed ignorance of human date etiquette, she was sure that Charlemagne knew this too, and a minute after she thought this, he confirmed her suspicion.

"We're here at the lady's doorstep," he observed in his silkiest tone, "and the night draws to a close."

Beka smiled. "So we can avoid looking at one another for awhile in awkward silence until you slink away, which is how most of the few dates I've had have ended. But…" she continued, "Unlike them, you didn't try to rob me or sneak off with a redhead. That has to count for something."

She took a single step closer and unconsciously licked her lips. When she stopped a few inches from his face, she paused and murmured, "Thank you." The smile he gave in return was soft and slight, nothing like the amused grin with an edge of mockery that he usually wore. She pressed her lips to his in a light, chaste kiss, then turned to enter her quarters as the hatch slid open.

"Good night," she called.

She collapsed on her windowseat and let her head loll against the screen. A wash of bright white stars twinkled at her but offered no answers to the roiling chaos in her mind. She liked Charlemagne, but he was getting married by her hand. She _really_ liked Charlemagne, but she thought she had loved Tyr. She didn't want to suffer again, but neither did she wish to cause anyone else's suffering, especially not Charlemagne's. Round and round her thoughts chased one another until she drifted off to sleep on the ledge.


	20. Chapter 20

So! Update at last! Since it's been years since I last updated, I thought any remaining readers I might have would appreciate a review of what's happened so far.

Hands Clean: The Story So Far

It opens with Trance telling a story about one of the many alternate paths Beka Valentine (and the rest of the universe) could have taken.

Story begins with the Maru in hock. The Than keeping the Maru asks Beka to run an errand for his employer, an organized crime lord, in exchange for her ship. In many of the possible futures, Beka refused and stole the ship back, but in this one, she decides to make the deal. She gets her ship back as promised and met with the crime lord, a woman named Darjella. The two women get along well, and soon after, Beka found herself taking another job from Darjella.

It was soon revealed that Darjella ss thinking of retiring from her position and of appointing Beka her successor. Darjella appoints Beka her first bodyguard, an orphaned Nietzschean named Tyr Anasazi. He thwarted the first assassination attempt against her, orchestrated by Jaguar Arch Duke Charlemagne Bolivar, and they started becoming friends. Bolivar's Pride and Darjella's operations under Beka clash as they compete for business and resources. Eventually Beka and Tyr decide to hire a larger security retinue, including the recurring character Skarynet.

They also decide to playact a romantic relationship, for the purposes of luring Beka's enemies into trying to move against her, thinking her stupid and foolish for entering into a relationship with her Nietzschean bodyguard. During this time, they're getting the first rumblings of rumors that Bolivar is to wed an important Sabra figure, Elsbett Mossadim.

Tyr and Beka have their first kiss as Tyr is describing the efforts of a Nightsider to retrieve a High Guard ship stuck in a black hole. Their plan is to let him pull the ship out and then take it from him. When the Andromeda fires on the salvage ship led by Gerentex's crew, Beka quickly boards her, erases the AI, and meets up with two of Gerentex's crew still on the Andromeda, Trance Gemini and Seamus Harper. During the confusion of boarding, Tyr killed the High Guard captain still alive on the ship. Trance is very melancholy about the turn of events. Beka offers the two a place in her crew aboard this new ship, and they accept.

The Trance who is telling us this story interrupts for a bit, to say that Beka had to make herself hard to endure all the moral dubious assignments they had, especially when Flash was involved. She wished she could have met Beka before Beka met Tyr.

They re-name Andromeda "The Shining Path." Tyr and Beka discuss the increasing rumblings of her security retinue, annoyed with their feigned relationship and what they see as their weakness. It was supposed to have that effect on their enemies, not these people. Tyr also has news that the Jaguar and Sabra Prides have agreed on a wedding between Bolivar and Mossadim. They worry that the combined strength of these Prides could give Bolivar the resources he needs to get past Beka's security and finally get rid of her

Storyteller Trance interrupts again with an ominous sidenote about how deadly important Tyr and Beka's exchange about stopping Bolivar's wedding turned out to be.

Beka spreads a rumor that Elsbett is secretly training to destroy the Jaguar Pride, which just happens to be true, beginning with Darjella. She and Trance have a discussion about their worries; contrary to Trance's expectations (and hopes?), Beka does not want to quit her job and go back to her old days of salvage with a small, loyal crew. Instead, she confides the whole story of the feigned relatinship to Trance, her worry that she might actually be falling for him, but most seriously, her fear that he's going to seize the opportunity of her security team's growing unhappiness with their situation to mutiny and take control of the Path, to further this own agenda – which will not include Beka being alive.

Soon after this conversation, Tyr announces that the Sabra-Jaguar wedding as been called off, after Beka's rumors spread far and wide and Bolivar found a pocket nuclear device about Mossadim's things. She's less worried about her team rising against her but still worried about Tyr when she gets a private message from Bolivar proposing a truce between them. Tyr and Beka agree that it's dangerous for her to agree, but they go anyway to hear what he has to say. They have a charged moment wherein Tyr tells her if that if he indeed betrays her, it would leave a scar on his heart. It's not quite romantic, but it's not quite... not.

They meet Charlemagne in a very fancy establishment – I must admit, part of the fun of writing this has been describing a good number of very fancy establishments – wherein he taunts Tyr and is mercilessly charming toward Beka. He also sees through their romantic facade and speculates that a lot of people would like to know that they're not actually an item. He proposes that she leave her facade with Tyr for a relationship with him, which would serve to make them both look like fools (and much less threatening to their enemies) while they quietly expanded their spheres of influence. And he would, ahem, treat her right. She refuses his proposal but suggests that they build a business relationship, to which he agrees.

Tyr and Trance have a conversation as Tyr attempts to teach her self-defense, where Trance begs him not to let Beka leave. One of security team hears part of the exchange and reports it to Beka. When she explodes at him for trying to turn here against her crew, they have words and she kicks him off the Path. Darjella comes about for a mysterious meeting with Tyr. Harper thinks the conversation was about Charlemagne, and he and Trance agree that he's bad news.

During a work-out that would turn out to be their last, Tyr and Beka have a spirited debate about Charlemagne, and the sparring match gets a little rough. He's very upset about the prospect of Charlemagne and Beka entering into any kind of understanding, knowing just how much she has to gain, but he understands that there's no stopping the inevitable. Beka realizes just in time that he's about to carry out the threat that's hung between them for so long now, and she manages to force him into the Path's brig. She sends a message to Charlemagne, but before he can arrive to help her, Tyr manages to convince two of the other security team to join his side. He takes her prisoner and then tranquilizes her. She wakes up to find that Charlemagne's made his way on board, and their overwhelming numbers convince Tyr to leave the Path.

Charlemagne's coterie settles in, and Harper and Trance finally decide they can't take life aboard the Path any longer. The Jaguar Matriarch, Ishtar Nikei, insists on meeting Beka, and offers the services of two of her soldiers to accompany Beka back to the Path as a Chief Engineer and Chief Medic. Beka refuses and speculates that perhaps the Jaguar Alpha, a man Bolivar is not shy about despising, tried to foist them off on her. Bolivar brings her back to the Path, where she has a messge waiting for Darjella; Beka is to embark upon a fact-finding mission between a small Nietzschean pride, the Volsung, and the human government of Castalia, after an alleged accident claimed the lives of thousands of Volsung.

During a languid conversation about their new crew, Charlemagne renews his offer of romance to Beka, who refuses again. She very much enjoys their friendship and wishes he would stop trying to make it something more; she leaves more determined than ever to find him a wife.

She meets with Dominique Mayae, her Nietzschean contact in the investigation at Castalia. Immediately upon Dominique's abrupt dismissal of Charlemagne, she knows that Dominique is the perfect candidate to wed Charlemagne. He tells her that, if she were to propose such a scheme to Dominique, she would assume that they were lovers, and once again he tries – and fails – to seduce Beka as they talk about the case Dominique presented to Beka.

Upon meeting with a representative of the Castalian government, Beka is presented with a near infallible case: the only strange part is the assassination of the man president at the time three days before he was to hand over power to the current president. The murder was blamed on a diplomat who escaped before he could be jailed, and Beka makes contact with him to discuss the case. Dominique sneaks up on her as she's leaving, and as Beka flies her back to her home, she presents her proposal for marriage between Dominique and Charlemagne. As he predicted, Dominique assumes that Beka is his "consort" and she does not argue. Beka learns that rumor has it that she killed Tyr when she took on Charlemagne, and Dominique merely asks that Beka not do the same to Charlemagne when she tires of him – and she assures her that she would not deprive Beka of her lover if she did agree to the proposal. Dominique finally declares that she would be honored to call Charlemagne her husband and Beka her sister, which takes Beka aback.

Oddly enough, the prospect of Dominique marrying Charlemagne leads Beka to contemplate pursuing the suggestion that Charlemagne keeps posing to her, and she surprises him no less than her by asking him a proper date. He suggests another ridiculously extravagant place, and they have an enjoyable time, but Beka is troubled on the ride home by both her intentions and the consequences of pursuing anything. The date ends with a chaste kiss.

The next day she visits with the diplomat accused of murdering Castalian President Lee, Lord Asoradn. The visit convinces her that there was an elaborate cover-up to hide not only the truth about Lee's assassination but about the accident that killed thousands of Volsung Nietzscheans. She has security footage showing the music discrepancy, that the current president did not have his entrance music played shortly after President Lee's assassination.

And that's the story so far...

**Chapter 20**

Beka awoke with a stiff neck, barely able to look straight ahead. She groaned and tumbled off the ledge, cursing loudly. "Coffee," she muttered. "Need coffee. Diplomacy requires caffeine." Vision still blurry, she stumbled to the desk, still mirror-smooth despite the many months she had used it primarily as a stand for her favorite coffee maker. It was dreadfully low-tech, but it had sentimental value.

She threw water and coffee into the pot, then made her unsteady way to the bathroom. A few minutes later, she emerged shivering, face wet, to the smell of brewing coffee. "Good as a shower," she murmured as she poured a cup and sipped it. For three minutes, she allowed herself to sit and stare blankly around her quarters, and then she jumped up and jerked open the wardrobe. It was one of the few hinged doors on the ship, and Beka had discovered that jerking it open and slamming it closed worked wonderfully to relieve stress.

The universe grew a little brighter and regained its normal pace, no longer dragging, as the coffee hit Beka's system. When the computer console on the desk emitted a shrill beep, she almost jumped out of her skin. It was a message from Lord Asoradn, a name she had to think about for a minute. The diplomat accused of assassinating the former Castalian president had just sent her a real-time communiqué, which he must have sent as soon as he received her proposal in order to have reached her so quickly. He had agreed to see her at his earlier convenience, providing she came alone and unarmed. Well, alone she could do.

---

Late that night, she returned to the Path, jittery with coffee and exhaustion and excitement, and made a bee-line straight for Charlemagne's door. She chimed the door incessantly until he answered, wrapped in a robe with his blond hair almost disheveled. He smiled, though, too courteous to berate her for obviously awakening him.

"To what do I owe the pleasure…" he glanced off to one side, "this morning?"

"Sorry," she replied breathlessly, "couldn't wait. I think the President… the Castalian president… I think he killed his predecessor. I don't know why or how, but I'm almost positive. We have to talk about this before I lose this caffeine high and all brain function."

Even as she spoke, Charlemagne raised the lights and disappeared for a moment into his bedroom, emerging before she finished her sentence in the silky trousers and tunic she thought of as his lounging clothes. In his hands he held two steaming cups made of thick-cut glass, wafting into the room a welcome, familiar aroma.

"I'd hate for you to lose brain function when you're on the verge of proving a major conspiracy," he said by way of explanation. "Unless I'm somehow involved." He furrowed his brow. "Castalians murdering Volsung Nietzscheans and assassinating their own president… no, that's not familiar."

Beka grinned as she took a cup for herself. She closed her eyes for a moment to enjoy the heady fragrance. "Good," she answered after a silent, savory moment. "I don't think your wife-to-be would approve."

Clutching the cup in one hand, she dug into the pocket of her jacket with the other and withdrew a tiny cube. "I don't know if your tech is compatible with this; this kinda thing was popular before grandpa Valentine was doing the lindy hop, or whatever the hell old spacers did. If not, the Maru can read it, and don't you dare comment on that."

His eyes were round. "I wouldn't dream of it."

He found a port that did not quite fit the thing but through computer magic could read the data inscribed on it and translate it into something the audiovisual center could read and project for their elucidation. Beka was bouncing in her seat while the thing whirred. After the few minutes the computer needed to think, a shot of President Lee entering a room appeared on the screen, accompanied by a strange warbling melody. He walked into the room and the scene abruptly ended.

She looked at Charlemagne and back at the screen. "What…" she began, but her question was cut off by another scene that flashed on the screen. Same action, different room. The weird music played while he entered the room, and then the visual feed went black. Four more scenes went by like this, and then she recognized the room where he'd been killed. Nothing unusual there; the music played like normal, and in went the President. She told Charlemagne the significance of the room, and he nodded without commenting.

Just as she'd thought, the next scene showed the current president. He entered a room, and the scene cut out, as it always did.

"No music," Beka observed. It returned in the next scene, and then the cube was spent. She sat back on Charlemagne's plush lounge and pondered the cube. "Lord Asnoradn or someone realized what was going on, hacked into the palace's security feeds and trawled a lot of data, and compiled all this. And then sat on it until this morning."

Charlemagne somehow scooted closer without actually appearing to move. "Oh, pardon me," he said, grinning, when their shoulders bumped. He stretched out his arm and laid it across the back of the lounge.

Beka snorted. "Very smooth." She repressed a giggle and shook her head. "Can we get back to business?"

"A conspiracy to cover up the genocide of my people, yes of course. Pressing matters at hand." He glanced at the screen and turned himself a little to face her more fully. "As you noted so keenly, someone broke through Castalian security…"

"A monumental task," Beka murmured, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, well, as sophisticated as their firewall is bound to be, I'm sure even the Castalians notice when someone copies extensively from their security feeds. No doubt the very clever president has made himself aware of this breach, knows precisely what this means, and has locked up very tightly, if not outright destroyed, any more damning information – especially to the audacious party who found this in the first place."

They sat in silence. "Well," Beka observed, "I can't blame him. I would've done the same. If I were in a bad mood, I might've swapped a page from Darjella's Rolodex and sent someone after the audacious party."

She paused. "Do you know what a Rolodex is? Is it like a book? Are there actually pages involved?"

---

The next day, Beka arrived at her scheduled meeting with reluctant Castalian archivists jittery with sleep deprivation coupled with excess coffee on the ride over. The music was the key, she was sure, the music and Lee's assassination. What any of it had to do with the alleged accident she could not begin to say, but her instincts told her that if she could find the right piece of evidence, a house of cards would come tumbling down and she's have the truth.

Who would have thought that she'd ever become so interested in setting the deaths of a bunch of Nietzscheans to rights? It was doubtless the result of making friends – and rarely, but still too often, more – with so damned many of them. Back in the days of running salvage, days she barely remember anymore, she could not have cared less, although back then, no one would have dreamed of hiring her to find out.

"I need all of President Lee's papers," she insisted to the archivists, "and all the memorial footage." She didn't think she'd find her answers there, but it was a good place to start.

They complained that it could take weeks to assemble everything she was requesting, if she even had the proper security clearance to view it all. She sighed. Maybe she really had been around Nietzscheans too long; these annoying little people were making the exoneration of their beloved leader – as they were sure would be the result of her investigation – unnecessarily difficult. Hadn't anyone ever introduced them to the concept of enlightened self-interest?

She took a deep breath. "Do you or do you not believe that the Volsung deaths were accidental?"

They did, fervently.

"And do you or do you not want me out of your precious archives as soon as possible?"

Their shuffling feet, averted glances, and incomprehensible muttering affirmed that they did.

"Then for the love of all things true and beautiful in this universe, get me those damned papers!" she shouted, punctuating the order with a slap of her hand against the nearest obliging surface.

One of them actually jumped and skittered away; the other two looked at her reproachfully and shuffled away, bubbling. The jumper was one of the air breathers, she noticed, and the other two were fitted with those water tanks the aquatic Castalians had to wear up here on the surface. The breather was the most junior among them, she was sure. She thought about that as the archivists disappeared into the stacks.

To give herself the appearance of productivity, Beka called up on the few seconds of security tape she had already managed to acquire: the footage of the closed room where Lee had been assassinated, in one of the temporary structures constructed for the celebration of Chandos transferring the presidential mantle from Lee's water tank to his own. She rubbed her temples against a headache she could feel building behind her eyes.

Lee and Asoradn entered the room together, apparently alone and deep in conversation. Seconds passed. Asoradn ran out again, pale and sweating. He grabbed the nearest guard and practically threw him into the room where Lee lay dead, before careening out of the camera's view. Beka squinted, but she could not make out what Asoradn said; there was no sound on the tape.

When the breather returned, his arms full of folders and flexis, Beka asked about the sound on the security tapes.

"I don't know how it could have happened," he moaned, noticing the screen Beka had been watching. "We took such careful measures. We positioned these cameras everywhere, and they were supposed to be the latest and best technology. Only the president had the authority to de-activate one, and the camera in that room was de-activated nearly half an hour before that filthy murderer killed Lee."

Beka blinked, astounded by this sudden burst of information. She tried to process it all. "So, best technology but there's no sound? That plus the de-activated camera – you guys either had some really bad technical luck or really skilled sabotage working against you." Judging by the data cube Asoradn had given her, she doubted that he had the resources to carry out something so elaborate.

He frowned and tapped the controls. "No sound? I'm not sure anyone's ever noticed that before."

Of course not, Beka thought. Asoradn was too easy a target, and his flight served to seal his guilt so nicely for everybody. No one wanted to launch an investigation, no one except the pesky Volsung, and the footage was too distressing to be included in any of the memorial memorabilia.

The breather seemed to forget that he was supposed to resent her presence and set to work muttering at the computer while Beka slipped away to examine the papers he had brought her. The sheer volume of Lee's writing made her head spin, but she was soon able to sort out the interesting papers from the day-to-day minutiae of running a government.

"There!" the breather exclaimed, just as the other two archivists returned. They exchanged a look of surprise and hurried over to the computer as Beka momentarily abandoned the papers.

They all watched the footage, and when the presidential music began playing in the tent, Beka finally began to see one of the connections that had so far eluded her. "It was the mantle. Or whatever you guys call it."

"What are you talking about?" one of the archivists asked.

"Look, for the rest of the day after Lee's assassination, the presidential music did not play when Chandos entered a room. And yet there it is, going off while Lee's holding still. That's not a coincidence."

The Castalians looked at each other with wide eyes. "Even if you're right about the music," the female aquatic ventured in a brittle, defiant voice, "it doesn't mean anything. Maybe President Chandos was... omitting the music out of respect."

Beka snorted. "I have a hard time believing that of someone so eager to don the mantle." She paused. "Did you say that he donated Lee's papers to the library?"

The archivists nodded slowly. "You don't think..." the breather whispered.

"I want you to look up everything Lee every said or wrote about the Volsung. Everything. I-"

The whine of charged guns interrupted Beka as footsteps pounded against the carpeting. "Shit," she muttered.

It was President Chandos and what she assumed passed for the Castalian Black Ops. No wait, those weren't just Castalians.

She cursed again. "I know you," she said flatly to a grizzled human, twice as old as she and bearing a gun almost as large as something Tyr would have carried. She ignored Chandos, who was looking very smugly at her, for the simple reason that he was apparently unarmed.

"I'm amazed you recognize my face," he growled. "I would have thought us kludges were beneath your notice if we weren't Darjella herself. Uber-lover. I know what you're doing here, and I've come to stop it."

She rolled her eyes as it occurred to her the strange alliance that this man in Chandos's company represented. "This is pathetic. You're trying to usurp my role as mediator? No one ever tries to usurp the mediator."

"Hardly an impartial one," Chandos broke in, his unctuous tone very different from his companion's. "You're brokering a marriage between your lover and the Volsung female. Can you deny it?"

"What, deny that gossip travels fast? That would be pointless."

She coughed, and in the motion of covering her mouth, deftly activated the subvocal communicator Harper had discovered and Trance had installed so long ago. Now that had been a strange surgery, but the device had proven its use many times over.

"You're corrupting my people with your Nietzschean-backed lies," Chandos continued. "President Lee was a great man, and you're attempting to turn a technical glitch into some sort of case against his historical legacy – and mine."

Beka tried very hard not to grin. "Technical glitch?" she asked, as nonchalantly as she could with a host of black ops guns trained on her. "What do you mean?"

His lips twisted as he snarled at her. "The tape, Miss Valentine. The music. It means nothing! Yet here you are, wasting my government's money and my employees' time, sending them on a fool's errand and leading them into the sedition you so carefully have constructed."

Moving slowly so that a trigger-happy soldier wouldn't seize an excuse to kill an enemy of the state, Beka turned to the breather who had fixed the tape and asked, in her most innocent voice, "Technical glitch? Is that what it was?"

"I... I'm not..." He frowned. "It could be, I guess. If you say so, Mr. President. But..." he swallowed and stared at his feet. "Nobody's looked at it till now. How did you know about the problem?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Beka could see the reality of the situation dawn on the other two archivists. The soldiers were too well-trained to react, Beka noticed with surprise and reluctant admiration, and the man she recognized just smiled.

"You're both idiots," Beka said before Chandos could make up another lie to cover his watery ass. "Coming in here, threatening me. Chandos, you gave Lee too little credit. He was a brilliant politician by all accounts, and I'm sure your people could have handled the truth. That was it, wasn't it? Lee was going to announce something when he passed the presidency to you, and you were terrified of what would happen. Hence the soldiers here now." She turned her attention to the grizzled man.

"And you. What, do you think Darjella's going to put you in charge?" She laughed. "Fertrun Nav. You tried to betray me, and then you tried to betray your crewmates, and now you're back to me. You failed the other two times, and you're going to fail this time. You're a pathetic specimen of humanity."

"At least I'm not a blood traitor," he spat. "It's bad enough screwing them, but defending them at the cost of a great man's legacy? It's disgusting. I won't let it happen."

Chandos was the smarter of the two ringleaders. The look on his face when the breather had spoken belied everything he had doubtless planned to say, and now Beka suspected he was calculating how to get out of here with his reputation and political reign intact. He would prefer to kill them all, she was sure, but he must have known that Charlemagne would bring the fury of the Shining Path and her crew upon his world. But Fertrun... he worried Beka. Somewhere along the line, he had lost his mind to virulently anti-Nietzschean bigotry, and now he was practically foaming at the mouth to kill her.

"Chandos," Beka warned, "don't even think about it." He had the temerity to look surprised, but she bulldozed over any protest he might have made. "The order you're thinking of. Don't. My crew aboard the Path has overheard this entire conversation, and if they suddenly hear a lot of shouting and gunfire, your people are going to have a whole lot more than a besmirched president to worry about."

Fertrun spun toward Chandos, face red with fury. "Chandos! We agreed! Do what you like with your kind, but Valentine will not make it out of this room alive!" he shouted. Beka had no strategy for this rabid individual; nothing she could say about reprisal would cow him.

"That man has done you more damage just now than I ever could," she said softly. "If I die, you will be reviled among the few of your people who survive Charlemagne Bolivar's revenge. Think about it. If you value your legacy or the survival of this government Lee worked so hard to build, you cannot let this man live."

With a wordless, insane cry, Fertrun threw himself at Beka and began firing indiscriminately. She hit the deck as she soon as she saw him twitch, and she managed to escape the first barrage with nothing more serious than a burn along her right arm. She hissed at the hot agony of the blast, but her fingers responded to her commands and pulled a table down in front of her as a second barrage erupted. This time, she heard the sounds of different weaponry, and she prayed that Chandos had listened to her.

"Miss Valentine?" Chandos called. His voice had lost all its smoothness, and now it was tired and sad. "It's safe to stand. He's dead." She rose slowly to her feet and was shocked to see the other three archivists, dead just meters away.

She cursed. "Dammit." The breather had been a genuinely decent human being, and even the fish-people had proved okay. She leveled a finger at Chandos. "This is all on you. That man was a lunatic, and you let him in."

He bowed his head. "And I will bear the responsibility. My soldiers and I will see you to your ship, and you shall make your report. When you hear of my world in chaos, I hope you'll remember that you had a hand in it."

Beka stepped quickly around the table and, ignoring the guns aimed at her, slapped Chandos as hard as she could. Her arm ached with the exertion and her palm stung, but it was worth it. "I didn't slaughter the Volsung," she hissed. "I didn't murder a man who was about to reveal the truth. I didn't even kill those archivists. I just let the sunshine in."

"The truth," Chandos said quietly. "If your truth does not involve the chaos those Volsung inflicted on my world for centuries, it will be no truth at all."

"Spare me," she spat through clenched teeth before hurrying out the library. She had a ship to run, territory to defend, and a marriage to plan. The sooner she left these people to their own rotten leaders, the better. At least crime lords were honest about their brand of evil.


	21. Chapter 21

**Diamond Gargoyle –** Wow, I still have a reader here! I'm so happy to see it. Thanks so much for the review. There will definitely be more Tyr (he's mentioned in this chapter!), and Harper keeps harassing me to return to the stage.

**Chapter 21**

When Beka stepped out of the Maru into the Path's hangar, her heart lurched in several directions in a matter of seconds. The first thing she saw was Charlemagne, striding toward her with an unreadable expression on his face. When he crossed the bay almost as quickly as if he'd run, he threw his arms wide and nearly crushed her to his chest.

"I cannot decide whether to applaud you or berate you first," he whispered into her ear. "So, if the lady will permit me, I will settle for kissing you until you are thoroughly out of breath, and then we can discuss the remarkable adventure you've had today."

Exhausted and emotionally depleted as she was, Beka found not only that she couldn't resist, but that she didn't really want to.

"Permission granted," she breathed, half-laughing. He loosened his grip on her just enough to pull back with a look of disbelief on his face that sent her into a fit of giggles. He smiled the most sincere smile she had ever seen from him and slid his hand from around her waist to cup her cheek like it was the most delicate thing he'd ever touched. He pressed his lips to hers, chaste only for a moment until she parted her lips, and then a flood of damp heat enveloped her senses.

It had been such a long time since anybody had kissed her so voluptuously, so unabashedly, so passionately that she felt her higher brain functions shut down completely in response to the hormones that raged through her bloodstream. He made a noise like a growl deep in his throat, and Beka moaned breathily. The hand still around her waist snaked around the small of her back to draw her closer, and her own hands settled on his neck and chest, smooth but almost humming with the strength beneath the surface.

She could not have said how long they stood there, welded to one another by the heat of that kiss, but eventually, she had to surface from that all-consuming, drowning passion. When she did, her eyes blinked back the bright light of the hangar to settle on Dominque Mayae, standing discreetly at the other end of the bay. Charlemagne must have felt her stiffen in his arms because he murmured to her, "Say the word Beka, and I'll be yours alone."

She pulled back and attempted a smile. Her heart still raced as she nodded toward Dominique, now flushed with equal parts lust and embarrassment. The Nietzschean woman joined them and beamed at both of them, for all the world like a proud parent. It made the situation even more awkward.

"Beka," she began warmly, "I'm so glad to see you unhurt."

Her words reminded Beka of the burn along her arm, which chose that moment to reassert itself. She winced and pulled her arm away from Charlemagne. "Almost," she replied.

Dominique turned toward the hatch and shouted for assistance. Despite herself, Beka couldn't completely stifle a laugh. Painful and awkward as it might be for her, she had definitely chosen the right woman for Charlemagne. "The Arch Duke and I were discussing some of the necessary arrangements for our wedding. We are both indebted to you for your very wise suggestion." She was almost bouncing on her toes with excitement, which Beka attributed – with what she realized with no little shock was a stab of jealousy – to a rousing physical encounter with Charlemagne until the woman finally darted forward and squeezed Beka in a short but bone-crushing embrace. She was careful of Beka's arm and darted back almost immediately.

"Forgive me," she said in her usual clipped tones. "But I overheard the events that transpired on Castalia, and it is not an exaggeration to say that you are among the greatest champions the Nietzschean people have ever had. Know that you will always be greeted as family among the Volsung, Beka Valentine."

Beka's heart staggered again. Among the greatest champions of the Nietzschean people? Was that actually a good thing, considering all the chaos and blood and death the Nietzschean race had inflicted upon the galaxies, most especially on their genetically inferior cousins? Her head whirled. But how could she resent Dominique's words, when the woman was obviously moved almost to tears by her actions?

"Oh," she answered unsteadily. "Well. Thank you. I... you know, I was hired to find the truth, and that's all I did." Found the truth and lost a lot of sleep, she added mentally.

Dominique shook her head stubbornly, and Charlemagne gazed at the pair of them with what Beka was sure was amusement. These people were utterly deranged, she decided. There was simply no other accounting for it. "No, you did more than that. How many people, not just non-Nietzscheans but my own people indifferent to the fate of a nothing little pride, would have risked their lives to expose the rotten of core of leadership?"

Beka thought about it and decided to give up. Dominique was probably right about that. "I guess... okay, maybe I am a little bit wonderful." Divine knew it was one of the most unarguably moral things she had done in a long time, and that felt good. "Now can the champion of the Volsung please get some medical attention?"

As if on cue, one of Charlemagne's crew bustled into the hangar and hurried her into Medical. Along the way, Dominique made her excuses and returned to her asteroid home, promising to return the next day to continue the discussions. With obvious reluctance, Charlemagne returned to Command, and when she was allowed to leave the med bay, with an ointment for any lingering pain, she found herself wandering not toward her own quarters but toward Charlemagne's. She was too tired for any strenuous shenanigans, but she figured that she deserved extreme pampering and would be best positioned to receive it in his quarters.

When Charlemagne entered his quarters, he was reading a flexi with great concentration, and for the moment it took him to cross the threshold, he did not notice her dozing in an armchair, a book lying unread in her lap. She jerked awake at the same instant that he sensed her presence, and they stared at one another in complete shock for a moment before coming back to themselves.

"Rebecca!" he exclaimed. "Do you know, I was just on my way to gather you? You are the hero of the hour, and I must insist that you and I celebrate in the immorally decadent fashion for which I am held in such low regard throughout the Known Worlds." He dropped the flexi after one final glance and rounded on her with a mock-threatening grimace on his face.

She shook her head in protest. "I can't, not tonight. I am so far past exhausted right now, I can barely think. The champion of the Volsung needs sleep before she can celebrate her... championhood."

With a dismissive sniff, he lifted her bodily from the chair and deposited her on his bed before leaving her to rifle through his extensive closet. "I'm sure I can't hear you," he replied. "Selective deafness. It's very rare among Nietzscheans, but it rears its ugly head at the most unfortunate times." He ducked into his closet and returned with the jeans he had worn on their first – and really, their only – date. "I seem to recall that you were very interested in the, ah, label of these trousers."

She fell on her back with a laugh. "You're infuriating."

"Still deaf," he interrupted. "I'm afraid this is quite a serious case."

She heaved a melodramatic sigh and clutched one of his down pillows to her chest before an idea occurred to her and she lobbed it as hard as she could at him. He gaped at her, or gaped as much as his Nietzschean dignity allowed, and she grinned. "I told you, I'm tired. I am not leaving this room until I have slept for an indecently long time."

A slow grin spread across his face as he padded toward the bed. "It seems my hearing is making a gradual recovery. I believe I heard you just now promise to do something indecent."

Drained as she was, Beka felt a little surge of heat tingle across her skin at the promise in his voice. She shook her head sadly. "Just sleep, Charlemagne. Well, okay, maybe I could eat one of Lance's pies, as long as you don't mind getting crumbs on the bed."

"You have my unconditional permission to do anything you like in my bed," he replied wickedly. "As long as I am present." He paused for a moment and bent to slip off her shoes. "And now," he continued in something more like a normal tone of voice, "my lady shall have her dessert, and if she insists on refusing to go to the celebration, the celebration will come to her."

The evening passed in a haze of meringue and bone-melting massages from Charlemagne that started at her feet and methodically worked their way upward. He produced a vial of rose-scented oil from somewhere, and soon the silk-encased bed smelled of exotic flowers. He murmured to her all the happenings of the day as his fingers kneaded her muscles, and try as she might to absorb the information, the meaning of his words eluded her like mist. Even when he started telling her about his meeting with Dominique, she could not work up an iota of jealousy or concern about the future.

By the time he finished her scalp, having washed his hands of the rose oil, she felt like she were floating on a cloud in one of the many heavens described by sentient beings throughout the Known Worlds. Before she drifted off to sleep, she heard the a whisper of fabric and felt the bed dip below his weight beside her. He emanated body heat and a faint, crisp scent of pine and snow. She did not have the energy even to curl up next to him, but he slung a bare arm around her and pulled himself close, rendering the whole point moot.

---

She awoke with the cool softness of silk against her skin and the scent of roses all around her. Beneath the roses, she also smelled the particular aroma she associated with Charlemagne, like winter time in the mountains, not that she had spent much time in mountains during any season. He was gone, of course, attending to his duties – and probably some of hers – aboard the Path, and while she knew that she should pull herself out of this feather bed, shake the wrinkles out of her clothes, and report to Command, her body refused to comply. She luxuriated in the wealth of pillows, the heavy weight of the duvet, the slick smoothness of the silk, and the memory of the night before.

Something in the room beeped at her, and a moment later, Charlemagne's voice spoke through the comm. "Beka, are you awake?" She replied in the affirmative. "Excellent. Stay there. I shall be very angry if I return to see that you've exerted yourself in any way."

She laughed and, in spite of his threat, pulled herself into a sitting position and then pushed herself to her feet. Near the bed lay a satin robe he must have left out for her beside the pile of her clothes she had shed last night during the very thorough massage. She had never taken her clothes off during Tyr's massages. Charlemagne had behaved remarkably well, she thought wryly. He must have sensed how desperately she needed to unwind and do absolutely nothing else.

She had never spent much time exploring Charlemagne's quarters, and this seemed like a prime opportunity. His tapestries she was familiar with, if perplexed by, and she recalled that the night before she had been reading a book. What was the obsession of Nietzscheans with books, she wondered. Maybe flexis offended their genetically-enhanced eyes. Most of Charlemagne's collection had much more interesting titles than Tyr's had, not that she was letting her mind wander in that direction. He had the requisite military strategy, of course, but also Than poetry, human sociology, memoirs of the Commonwealth High Guard, religious texts, and what looked suspiciously like a shelf of very cheesy science fiction. Those were her favorite, and as she was drawing one off the shelf, the hatch slid open and Charlemagne swept in with a round serving platter balanced on three fingers, for all the world like a waiter, down to the white towel across his arm.

In a typically Nietzschean display of inhuman grace, he spun the platter on his forefinger and set it down, still spinning, on a side table near the bed. It slowed to halt without the slightest clatter of cutlery.

"Show-off," she muttered.

He laughed. "You wound me. Besides, if either of us is to be complaining, it should be me. Do you know, I suspect that my entire crew aboard this ship would swear their undying loyalty to you if you asked them. Not that I blame them, mind you. You exposed the truth behind the genocide of the Castalian Nietzscheans, all while brokering an excellent marriage and expanding the influence and respect for your criminal matriarch."

"By all means, keep up the flattery. The next time I trip over my own damn feet in Command, you can remind everybody just how great I am." She sat on the bed, drawn by the scents of cinnamon toast and tea that wafted toward her. A bowl of assorted berries drizzled with honey completed the delectable picture. "Shouldn't one of us be in Command right now? We aren't going to finish breakfast, only to find that your people have mutinied and allied us with the Dragans, are we?"

A mock pout crossed his face. "Need I repeat all those eloquent compliments I paid you a moment ago? I thought they were quite well-crafted."

She threw her hands up in a gesture of surrender, but immediately her arm twinged. The moment she winced, Charlemagne found the ointment that she had received the day before. "Eat your breakfast, champion, and I will tend to you battle scars." She could hardly argue with that. After he sat next to her on the bed, he took her right arm in both his left hand and began spreading the cool, viscous liquid over her burned flesh. She munched the cinnamon toast and maneuvered the mug a little clumsily with her left hand, amazed that he knew to make tea this morning. The last few mornings had exceeded her coffee limit, and now the soothing, slightly spicy tea with its much gentler caffeination was just what she needed to start the day.

He was still trailing his ointment-smeared fingers over her arm, probably unnecessarily, when she started on the slightly tart berries. Fresh fruit was one of the many perks of her morally ambiguous but profitable employment, she thought. Growing up, it had been better and much rarer than candy.

"Charlemagne?"

His blue eyes sparkled at her as he looked up from her still pink arm, eyebrow raised.

She nodded at her arm. "I think you got it all. Can I interest you in second breakfast?"

He smiled, but she realized there was something a little vague in his expression. The night before, she remembered that he had been concentrating intently on something, and now she wondered if he was thinking about that again. She wondered if he was thinking about Dominique.

"You are too generous," he murmured. "Beka, there is something we must discuss before you leave this room. Either our crew will relay the news or Dominique will, and I believe that you should prepare yourself."

Her heart thudded in her chest, so loud she half-suspected he could hear it. What in creation could he mean? His tone was positively ominous. She swallowed. "What is it? Darjella?" Then she realized what the cautious note in his voice meant, and part of her confusion cleared. "No, it's Tyr. What about him?" A cold stillness descended over her. No, please...

Charlemagne's lips thinned into a wry smile. "It's terribly rude of me to keep you in such suspense. He's not dead; to the contrary, he seems to be in excellent health. He's married to a woman of the Orca Pride. Scoundrels and pirates, but between them, they have two very interesting lineages. And he has lately caused proven quite the thorn in the Dragan side. Your former bodyguard recently stole the bones of Drago Museveni." He chuckled and shook his head.

Something like a snort escaped her. "The bones of Drago Museveni? The first Nietzschean? The bones his people were entrusted with until the Dragans stole them and annihilated the Kodiaks?"

Charlemagne nodded, still smiling to himself.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. That's all part of his big, mystical destiny, isn't it?" The reason he left me, she wanted to say. She furrowed her brow. "That was... interesting, but I don't see why I needed a warning."

He reached up to lay a hand gently in the curve of her neck. The lightly herbal fragrance of the ointment drifted up to her, and though his manner implied that everything and everyone was in fine shape, this overt display of tenderness worried her. Maybe she was just getting cynical in her old age.

"The Volsung Pride is in disarray, but they do have a strong Matriarch. If she is half as clever as I believe she is, she will ally herself to Tyr as soon as she can."

The room filled with a tangible, touchable silence. "Where the Matriarch goes, the Pride goes," she whispered. "And where the Pride goes..." She could see it now.

"Where the Pride goes, their newly-acquired ally must make at least a token appearance of goodwill."

Beka nodded faintly. And where Dominique's newly acquired Jaguar ally went, the ship where he was temporarily residing would go. She could either toss him off the ship, which Darjella would surely object to, or she could accompany him and his wife-to-be, smiling and arm-in-arm with them like the bizarre little family Dominique envisioned.

She tried to laugh. "You know, Dominique thought that I'd had Tyr killed when I got tired of him. I'll be sorry when that rumor is laid to rest." After another quiet moment, she laid her hand atop Charlemagne's and sighed. "Thank you."

Some of the dizziness that had swept over her stilled as Charlemagne gazed at her. She could never fool herself into thinking that his feelings for her – or even her feelings for him – matched the depth and agonizing power of what she had shared with Tyr. But Charlemagne had never been afraid of exploring the connection between them, whereas Tyr had avoided it like a white-hot flame until the very end, when everything had exploded. The epic sweep of Tyr's sense of destiny would always stand in the way, but Charlemagne's plans actually included her.

Her fingers traced the slender bones of Charlemagne's arm under his sleeve and the roundness of his shoulder until they came to rest at the fringes of his pale blond hair. She pulled him forward across the scant inches that separated them and kissed him softly but soundly. Her hand curled in his hair as their mouths opened slightly.

A few seconds later, he gently disentangled himself. "You should know," he rasped, "that everything is changed, after the Volsung. You are worthy, Beka. Worthy of any Nietzschean, if not as the mother of his child then as a respected consort. Only one human in one million has such an opportunity, and even fewer star-crossed lovers."

"Charlemagne," she breathed. "May I say something?" At his nod, a genuine smile crossed her lips. "You talk too much." She leaned forward again and tugged him more sharply toward her. Her eyes fluttered closed, and for a time, his warm breath and firm lips and powerful hands on her were all she knew.


	22. Chapter 22

**B.L.A. The Mouse**: Wow, thank you so much for your kind words! I think 'twisted' is an excellent word to describe that particular relationship. It can only get stranger!

**River of Trouble**: That was quite a read! I did that when I was starting this up again, and it took me a good while. I'm so flattered! Sorry this update took awhile; I plead NaNo and finals. The next ones will definitely come faster than this.

**Diamond Gargoyle**: Woohoo, I'm always happy to rock socks! I'm with you on that; fanfic makes me feel the exact same way. They could have done SO MUCH with the show!

_Warning: this chapter may veer into M territory. _

**Chapter 22**

When Beka Valentine walked into Command about an hour and a half later, after a very thorough session of what her father had called "necking," a decadently long, hot shower and a change of clothes, she was so absorbed in thinking about Tyr's possible return to her life that she just about jumped when Charlemagne announced crisply, "Captain on deck."

She shot him a curious glance, but half a second later, she understood his announcement. Every Nietzschean crew member spun toward her as if on cue, made a fist with their right hands, slammed their right forearms against their chests, spikes facing outward, and then shot their right hands out at shoulder level, palm up. It was clearly some kind of salute, and the pause that followed just as clearly signified that they were waiting for something. Heard thudding in her chest, Beka returned the salute, albeit more hesitantly, and they relaxed in unison. Only when they returned their attention to their console did Beka turn to Charlemagne. He shrugged at her, eyes wide and hands spread. She managed not to laugh, but only barely.

Having spent the last few days on Castalia and traveling on her own, Beka found that she had missed her post as Captain in command of this gorgeous vessel. Nothing particularly exciting had occurred during her ambassadorial stint, but the pleasure of knowing the minute changes to her ship delighted Beka more than she had expected. They were remaining in orbit around Castalia at Dominique's request, with a brief message of approval from Darjella. Sensors picked up riots and political upheaval from the planet, but the anger seemed to be mostly directed inward, toward the water-breathing politicians in charge, not the remnants of the Volsung people.

"Captain," the communications officer called, "a ship is requesting permission to board. It appears to have departed from the Volsung asteroid."

Beka smothered a grin. She had worked closely with the Volsung for the past few days, was arranging a marriage between them and the Jaguar Arch Duke, and was credited – not erroneously – with avenging their slaughter, but Solomon sounded just as suspicious as he would have been of a Kaldaran hive ship claiming to bear the captured Vedran Empress.

"Onscreen."

She recognized Dominique but not the older woman sitting beside her. She could guess, though. They made the fist to heart gesture, and she returned it a bit less tentatively than last time. "Nice to see you again, Dominique"she said, "Are you going to introduce me?"

The older woman glared at Dominique with the sort of flat Nietzschean expression that Beka had some to understand. Oh these silly humans, it said.

"Of course. Beka, allow me to present the Volsung Matriarch, Marsay Reyne, out of Delphine by Viktor. Matriarch, this is Captain Beka Valentine of the Shining Path, out of Thalia by Ignatius."

Beka could not remember if she had ever told Dominique the names of her parents; she rather doubted it. Dominique must have done some research. _And she still wants to be my sister ?_ The Matriarch dipped her head imperiously. She looked nothing like Ishtar Nikei, the Jaguar Matriarch, and more like Beka's mental imagine of Nietzschean Matriarch. She wore her jet black hair in a short cloud around her head, and from what Beka could see, she was dressed in a severe dark blue suit that would not have looked out of place on a high-ranking FTA inspector. Her dark eyes drilled into Beka through the viewscreen.

"You're cleared to dock," Beka told her when her console reported a green light. "Charlemagne and I will meet you at hangar deck two." She turned to face Charlemagne, who was deep in conversation with with Solomon. As if on cue, he nodded to Solomon and faced her with the wide-eyed look of happy anticipation she had learned to associate with particularly thorny challenges. It was not especially comforting.

-o-

"Beka," Charlemagne said to her after their meeting with the Volsung Matriarch had ended, "you know that I find your steadfast abstinence from most forms of chemical psychoactives enormously admirable."

Beka barked a laugh as she smoothed a silky lotion over her calves. As soon as she returned to her quarters after that agonizing encounter, she had stepped into a hot shower and did not emerge for almost an hour, when Charlemagne had chimed at her door. She could have stayed in there for another hour if her legs could have held her, but when she realized that he came bearing Viennese coffee, fragrant with cloves and cinnamon, with a silver dish of whipped cream and two large slices of what he reported to be pumpkin cheesecake, she forgave the interruption. Their unofficial ship's baker, the sporter of colorful berets married to the fiercest weapons officer Beka had ever met, had never made a cheesecake during the relatively short time he had been on board. Beka had not dared dream of cheesecake, yet there it was, marbled ivory and pale orange, flecked with spices.

He took a sip of coffee and gazed openly at Beka as she spread lotion over her skin. "But if a respectable Nietzschean were ever driven to drink," he continued, "it would be over a Matriarch. No one could blame me, you know." He sighed at his cup as if wishing he could conjure up a finger or two of brandy.

Beka raised an eyebrow. "Nobody's stopping you. Surely you have a bottle of something ludicrously expensive in your quarters."

He nodded. "Of course, but I feel it would be... improper of me to drink before a lady who did not partake."

Beka paused in her lotion routine to catch his eye and grin. "Ah, now I see the problem. You've mistaken me for a lady. I can't imagine how you made that mistake after that, ah, thorough examination of my every character and genetic flaw I just sat through."

Charlemagne snorted, which Beka thought must have been the least graceful thing she had ever seen him do. It was reassuring, in a way, that he was just as wrung out by that horrifying reenactment of the Spanish Inquisition as she was. Beka drained her cup, taking care with her lotion-coated fingers, ate another bite of cheesecake, and let it melt on her tongue before returning her attention to her elbows. Like many of the finer things in life, Beka had learned of this heavenly concoction from Tyr. The man know his bath and body goods; she had to hand it to him. Charlemagne had even noted his recognition of the scent with no little surprise.

Now his eyes were trailing her fingers as they danced lightly over her knees. "I don't suppose I could convince her to spend a day with my Sabra questioners," he mused. "She would give them the kind of education you cannot buy these days."

"You should wait at least until you're sure that Dominique isn't going to call off the wedding or smuggle a nuke in her garters."

He shook his head. "Dominique Mayae is determined to have you for a sister, perhaps moreso than me for a husband. What we witnessed was not the Volsung Matriarch attempting to convince Dominique of the error of her choice. She was resigning herself to the idea."

Beka raised her eyebrow in a look of horror that was only slightly feigned. "That was grudging acceptance? Then why did I have the strong urge to yell, 'I give up!' fifteen minutes in?"

"I imagine that she hoped you would. I cannot truthfully say that I did not have a similar moment of weakness." He grimaced into his cup.

Cruel as it was, Beka could not help a snort of her own at that. Poor Charlemagne. Beka had received the entirety of the woman's questioning, but a few of those questions had centered around Charlemagne's capabilities as a lover. The Matriarch was more frank than Beka could imagine being with the few close girlfriends she'd had in her life, and quite probably for the first time in human history, she had seen Charlemagne Bolivar flush with discomfort.

"_Has he regularly brought you to orgasm, Captain? Sexual release is extremely important in the bonding of married Nietzscheans, and I will not have Dominique married to an inferior lover."_

"_Keeping in mind your inferior senses, how well did he stimulate your various erogenous zones? Sexual intimacy to Nietzscheans is far more than mere penetration."_

"_Would you ever consider admitting your sister into your sexual union? Many married Nietzscheans find that this greatly enhances the bond both among sisters and between wives and husbands. I strongly suggest that you discuss it. What is your experience with human women? Would you know how to please your sister?"_

By that point, Beka was too numb with horror to register much shock at the questions, but Charlemagne had made a kind of choking noise when the Matriarch had said the word 'orgasm.' Beka had not dared to look at him directly, and she had answered as discreetly as possible. The woman had seemed annoyed but not surprised by Beka's reticence to discuss these matters. Not only were the questions intrusive and unsettlingly clinical... but for a brief moment before the bald-faced insults had set in again, they had set Beka's mind wandering down a very distracting path.

And now, with Charlemagne's eyes tracing the curve of her thigh as it disappeared underneath her robe, her mind wandered back to that first question. She had complete confidence that he could, and that he would be very creative in doing so. It had definitely occurred to her before; such a long time had passed since she had had that particular pleasure. Her interlude with Charlemagne that morning was the closest she had come to sex in far too long, and all day little reminders of it came back to make her shiver. She shivered now.

His penetrating blue eyes missed nothing. "Are you cold?" he asked softly.

"A little." She shook her head. "Not really."

He gave her a gentle smile. "Please, have a seat." He patted the inch of chair next to him, and she laughed. "You've had an excruciating time of it, Beka. You learned of the return of Tyr Anasazi into your life less than four hours before you were subjected to a harangue of epic degree, even by Nietzschean standards. You should consider me prostrate at your feet. But first, I must insist that you sit."

She was balanced a little precariously in her usual lotion position, with one foot perched on the low ottoman where Charlemagne had set the tray. The thought of sitting was inviting, and with the added inducement of Charlemagne metaphorically prostrate at her feet, she found she could not resist the offer. She rubbed her hands hastily on the robe she wore and hesitantly lowered herself to his lap, folding her legs alongside his so she was facing him. Her robe gaped around her knees, and his hands immediately settled on her waist. They were so warm against the thin fabric of the robe, like they could burn through at any moment.

"You have denied yourself so long," he murmured. "Your discipline amazes me. Perhaps you even had good reason to keep yourself from me. But now, Beka... you're our champion. You've declared your willingness to take Dominique as your sister." His lips curved. "You've vouched for my sexual prowess. You are no longer playing a game, and you must realize that you are finally in a position of strength."

His hands tightened, and Beka's breath caught. He shifted one of his hands to her neck, pulled her close and whispered into her ear, "Enjoy it." She shivered again as his warm breath tickled her ear and stirred a strand of hair.

She wanted to reply with something equally sultry, but her mind went blank. The rising, tingling haze robbed her of words, but fortunately she did not need words to communicate just now. She slipped her hands inside the very snug, silky sweater he wore and let her fingers dance along the low, hard ridges of muscle underneath. The smooth fabric above her fingers and the heat of her skin underneath made her sigh with sensuous bliss. His breath hitched and tickled her ear again, and she exhaled raggedly at the sensation.

She pushed herself closer to him so that her hips brushed his waist. The sudden sensation at her core made her gasp and lit her up like a fuse. Dizzying waves of heat washed over her as his hands caressed her body through her robe, and she ached to feel the crease and press of his skin against hers. Without warning, she shoved him backward and for a brief moment savored the look of surprise on his face before curling her fists around the hem of his shirt and yanking it upward. They struggled for half a second, and then the shirt had tumbled to the carpet and he was gloriously shirtless in front of her.

He was beautiful. Part of her could not believe that she was touching something so gorgeous, so magnificently sculpted, but most of her didn't care. He pushed back her robe roughly, and goosebumps raised on her skin. He encircled her in his powerful arms and stroked and squeezed her flesh until she moaned.

"Not here," he rasped. She wanted to argue, but when her mind cleared enough to think about it, she realized that her legs were already aching in their bent position. A second later, he raised himself to his feet, supporting her weight easily, and crossed to her bed in a few quick strides. Before he laid her on the bed, he lifted her chin with one finger and stared into her eyes. His eyes were a darker blue than she had ever seen them and so riveted on her that she could hardly breathe. He pressed his lips to hers as they fell to the bed. He tasted sweet and spicy, like cinnamon and cloves and cheesecake. When his tongue flicked hers, Beka arched her back and abandoned herself to the hot, the damp, the tingling, and the incessant thrum of desire.

**B.L.A. The Mouse**: Wow, thank you so much for your kind words! I think 'twisted' is an excellent word to describe that particular relationship.

**River of Trouble**: That was quite a read! I did that when I was starting this up again, and it took me a good while. I'm so flattered! Sorry this update took awhile; I plead NaNo and finals. The next ones will definitely come faster than this.

**Diamond Gargoyle**: Woohoo, I'm always happy to rock socks! I'm with you on that; fanfic makes me feel the exact same way. They could have done SO MUCH with the show!

_Warning: this chapter may veer into M territory. _


	23. Chapter 23

I know, I know. This time my excuse is three nights a week of evening classes, which used to be my prime creative time. The late classes are ending next week, and I've resolved to write every day during Lent, so hopefully I'll get back on track.

**Ilexx**: There's more of him coming, and more of another blond we all know and love.

**B.L.A the Mouse**: Hee, I'm glad you enjoyed that! The interrogation was a lot of fun to write (I think of her as the ultimate nightmare mother in law), and of the course that ending had been waiting for SO LONG to be written.

OMG I totally had this written a week ago, and I could have sworn I published it. But I guess the site ate it! Oh well, this way you get two chapters at once!

**Chapter 23**

Every morning when Beka awoke, she was struck by how much her life had changed in such a short time. Even when she was in her own quarters, a simple glance in her mirror showed her flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips which recalled Charlemagne's usual affectionate good-morning greeting. Later, as she made her way through the Shining Path's corridors, the Nietzschean crewmembers regarded her with a new measure of respect and something that was almost kinship. They asked her opinion of the meteoric rise of Tyr Anasazi and his son, the rumored Nietzschean messiah, on the stage of the Known World. They congratulated her on arranging the marriage of their Arch Duke with a distant relation of Anasazi, as if she had planned it that way.

One morning, Charlemagne strode into his quarters where she was still waking up – he usually rose an hour or two earlier than she did – to announce that the Volsung Matriarch had made contact with Tyr. They were set to rendez-vous at a secret location in two weeks, and Dominique had suggested that the wedding occur before then in order to secure a possible connection between Tyr and the Jaguar Pride, who would be by far his most powerful ally if things went smoothly. Beka snorted at the idea that anything between Tyr and Charlemagne would ever go smoothly, but she saw the sense in it. What was more, Beka's sister had suggested that Beka speak with the Jaguar Matriarch about this potential alliance.

Charlemagne sat down beside her on the settee where she liked to drink a cup of coffee and come awake slowly. "She did apologize," he finished with a wry twist of his lips.

Beka narrowed her eyes but found that she could not really be angry. Annoyed, yes, but then, she was strangely touched that even Dominique knew her well enough to anticipate her irritation. "Let me get this straight," she groused, with a touch of warmth in her voice,

"You get to consummate your marriage with a gorgeous brunette in the next several days, and I get to appear before the Jaguar Matriarch to discuss an old flame."

He slung an arm around her shoulder and chuckled. "If you were of... a more Nietzschean mindset, I would remind you that you are thus securing your reputation as one of the most powerful humans among my people." She snorted. "You, however, remain unimpressed, so I shall be forced to remain in suspense for the revenge I am sure you are already plotting." His flashing blue eyes and the satiny undertone in his voice made the words sound like a filthy proposition.

She scoffed but somehow found herself inching closer to him. Slender though he was, she had discovered that he was very comfortable to lounge against. Maybe it was all those silky shirts he wore. "So, two weeks. You people don't go for long engagements, do you? Is that normal?"

Beside her, she felt him become tense, though he sounded nonchalant as ever when he replied. "As a rule, Nietzscheans do not bother with ceremony at all, but for political alliances such as this, it seems appropriate to give the people something more official than mussed bedsheets and a pair of double helixes in the morning."

Beka failed to completely suppress a laugh. "Political alliances?" She adopted a mock-innocent tone and looked at him with wide eyes. "But I thought all Nietzschean marriages were political alliances."

He erupted into laughter. She could feel his chest shaking as he laughed, and she felt her lips tug into a genuine smile. Had she ever made Tyr laugh like that? And wasn't that a strange thought to have right now?

"Clever girl," he chuckled. "Some Nietzschean philosophers argue that every interaction is political, but then the word loses some of its meaning, don't you think? In any case, you seem to think that marrying Dominique will improve my moral character. How strange – I could have sworn I was a lost cause."

"You'd better not be," she said as she shook a finger at him. "I get the feeling that if you turn out to be a lost cause, that terrifying Volsung woman is going to come after me with a very pointy stick." She shuddered. "Please tell me that you people don't have family reunions. Better yet, tell me that I will never again have any reason to be within fifty yards of her. I'm pretty sure she can disembowel me with her eyes at forty-nine."

"We-e-e-ell..."

She sat up and jabbed him hard in the chest. "Well, what? Don't tell me, weekly Sunday dinner at the Matriarch's?"

"The very horror of such an idea would drive Nietzschean males across the Known Worlds to suicide. No, nothing like that, but you will see her at the ceremony. In fact..." he paused again, and she poked him. Harder. "For an alliance such as this, there are certain formalities we like to follow. This is not just an agreement between Dominique and myself; it also involves our Prides and... you."

She stared. "Me? From the sidelines, you mean. Cheering you on. Silently. Divine save me, Charlemagne, I am not a flower girl."

He tilted his head to peer at her. "Flower girl?"

"In a human wedding. A girl, she carries flowers down the aisle ahead of the bride? She, um, scatters petals, I think. It's supposed to be pretty." At his perplexed look, she sighed. "It's a human thing. Flowers. Never mind."

When he shook his head, she recognized that exceedingly familiar expression of Nietzschean bewilderment with human quirks. During her long acquaintance with the race, she was beginning to suspect that much of Nietzschean contempt for their under-modified cousins was really a cover for their endless confusion at the inexplicable behavior of those people from whom they sprang. And perhaps jealousy at their comparatively tiny history. Nietzscheans didn't like anything they did – or had – to be smaller than anything human.

"I will make a note to Dominique, no flowers," he said dryly. "You'll be happy to know that the ceremony is quite brief and that your involvement is minimal. You will stand beside me as the Matriarchs... wax poetic about the future of our union," he waved his hand in a grand gesture, "and then they formally agree to our marriage, and Dominique and I will declare ourselves to one another." He grinned. "Do you know, she insisted on treating you with the full formality of a First Wife? You should be honored."

"Full formality?" She made a face. "Do I have to say anything?"

"We do not have vows, but the usual mode is to declare her part of your family, and she will say something similar."

She gaped at him, speechless for a moment. "I... have to ad-lib this? You people _ad-lib_ your weddings? And you call yourselves civilized."

He tilted his head to peer at her. "For one of the most personal, most... emotional ceremonies of your life, your people prefer to spew rote formulas." After gazing at her for a moment, he leaned just enough to drop a light kiss on her hair. A faint chuckle rumbled in his chest.

All at once, Beka felt warm and safe and loved. Sitting on Charlemagne's slightly too-soft settee, leaning against his warm, muscled chest, she felt something deep inside her finally relax. It had been there so long that she could not remember a time when that knot was not suspended somewhere near her heart, but now it eased, just a bit. Why now, when she was discussing the event that would take Charlemagne from her side, at least from time to time?

"Two weeks." Beka shook her head slowly. "What exactly are you planning to pull together in two weeks?"

"A decent part but nothing extravagant. The last time I tried to have an extravagant wedding, my bride-to-be smuggled in a nuclear weapon amidst the lace." He snorted. "Besides, I fear the Volsung would see excessive expenditure as... mockery, of a sort."

"Charlemagne, you're always mocking people. It's one of the five things you do best."

"One of the five?"He sat up and waggled his eyebrows. "Tell me, are you free to practice number two for an hour or so?"

"That _was_ number two."

"Precisely! That Volsung Matriarch, quite the harridan, wouldn't you say?"

She giggled. "She's terrifying. You know, I trust Dominique not to blow up, but her Matriarchy might try to kill you just to make sure you're worthy. Who's doing security for this shindig?"

He raised an eyebrow at the word, but she knew he secretly loved those very silly words that no Nietzschean would utter under torture. "Trusted Jaguars, one of them a distant cousin I believe. You sound as though you have a suggestion."

Charlemagne's mention of his prior, abortive stab at matrimony had brought to Beka's mind that scrawny little mudfoot who had worked aboard the Path when she had first planted the rumor of Elsbett's treachery. That kid could manipulate computers the way Charlemagne manipulated fleets.

"I do, actually. I'm not sure you had a chance to meet him, but when you and yours showed up here – for which I am eternally grateful – I had this hyperactive Earther running the Path's computer systems. I think he had a rash. Harper was his name. Seamus Harper and his purple friend Trance were a little wary of sticking around with all your people aboard, but they knew their stuff." She smiled to herself, remembering. "And they'll work for cheap."

A thoughtful look crossed Charlemagne's face. "Seamus Harper, I remember. And Trance... Gemini? Very strange girl. What species did you say she was?"

She shrugged. "Um, purple? I get the feeling that no one's managed to figure that out."

"I trust your judgment regarding his skills, but I am more concerned with his loyalties. If he left because he refused to work with my people, what would induce him to return now? Frankly, why should I trust him to do his best work for a Nietzschean wedding?"

She could almost see Harper asking her that exact same question, from his perspective. Why would he want to work for a bunch of Ubers? "He didn't want to serve on a ship where he'd be the butt of cracks about his inferior genes, but the kid grew up on Earth. I think he can take a couple weeks of snide comments in return for a decent salary. And hey, even if he doesn't care about any of the rest of you, I'm pretty sure he's not going to let anybody blow me outta the sky." It was a little conceited but true, she hoped.

A little smile danced around Charlemagne's lips. "A real Earther? That's amazing. Do you know the percentage of Earthers who manage to escape that gutter? I'm sorry I did not have more time to become acquainted with him. Beka, how _do_ you meet these people?"

A primitive remnant of loyalty to Earth made her prickle when Charlemagne called Earth a gutter, though she knew that she had said worse. Well, it was all right for humans to abuse it, but there was a whiff of something else when a Nietzschean did so, even in the strangely complimentary way Charlemagne had said it. Something that hearkened back to jackboots and slavery, things she generally tried to avoid thinking about.

"The universe just throws 'em at me, I guess."

He must have sensed the change in her mood because he tightened his arm around her for a moment. "I understand." She could hear the two meanings in his voice. "Very well, I will give my family a grave insult and hire this human of yours to head security. Won't that be a charming picture? I shall have the most talked-about wedding in half a century, and you know how I love gossip."

**

Memory washed over her when she exited the Maru and stepped into the hangar of Miqo Drift. The bittersweet nostalgia for the old days hit her so hard that she swayed dizzily and had to steady herself on the Maru's hull. She glanced up at her ship; despite its numerous upgrades and repairs, it still fit better in the hangar of this mangy drift than it ever had in the Path. It was all boxy lines and hastily soldered hull plates to the sleek curves of the old Commonwealth ships.

Here, only the cons looked at her twice, the same way they looked at everyone, especially newcomers, twice. She had become so used to circles where she was instantly recognized or tended that it was both perplexing and liberating to walk around in total anonymity. She wandered around the drift, struck by emotions she could not name when she turned a corner to find a Flash head twitching quietly to himself or a small time gangster strutting with his meaty guards, until she came upon the drift's machine shop. It was nothing to the Path's, of course, but the signature presence of patched wires, sooty parts littered on the deck, and empty bottles of Sparky cola confirmed that Seamus Harper was indeed employed here.

A familiar whistling in the back, behind a curtain of steam, told Beka that she had finally found him. "Harper!" she shouted.

A muffled crash and a few muttered curses later, a filthy mudfoot emerged from the shadows. He squinted at her and ran his hands through hair that cried out for shampoo. "Boss? I mean, Beka? Hey, what are you doing here?" He looked at his hands and winced. "Uh, sorry about all this. The mess. We're renovating... well, actually I'm renovating and no one's stopping me. Can I... nope, nowhere to sit. Hold on just one second."

He disappeared for a couple of minutes without giving her a chance to say a word and then popped out again, looking as if he had run a moderately dirty towel over himself and perhaps washed his hands. She tried not to laugh. "So what's up?"

"I want to hire you, just two weeks of security, and then you're back here, or wherever you want to go. Is Trance still with you?"

He smiled. "Yeah, she spends most of her time in the greenhouse. They didn't even have a greenhouse until we got here, but she worked her pixie magic, and boom! They actually have an export now, some rare plant. The oil is worth a fortune."

Beka proposed that they go somewhere where they could talk for a bit, and as he led the way to a cafe, he told her the thrilling tale of how he and Trance had ended up at Miqo. At his first offer after the Path had fallen through, they had bounced around and ran lower and lower on cash until they had landed at Miqo without enough money to spend the night. Desperate, he had asked the drift administration for a job, any job, and when he had single-handedly fixed the persistent bug in the gravity generator, they had hired him on the spot as Chief Engineer. He was more like the only engineer, and as he rambled about his work, Beka realized that he was happy. He was needed here, which she suspected he had stopped feeling aboard the Path when the Nietzscheans encamped.

It was not until Beka had her coffee and Harper his milkshake that they started talking business. "I guess that's all there is to say about me and Trance. What kinda security gig do you have in mind?"

She took a gulp of coffee and steeled herself for the incredulity she was sure would come. "It's Charlemagne Bolivar. He's getting married again, and seeing as how I actually _want_ him to survive this time, I figured I needed the best tech help I could get." She paused. "But it turns out he's on vacation right now, so I'm asking you instead."

He made a face. "Oh ha ha. I know he saved your life – saved all our lives, probably – but why do you care about his wedding? Big important guy like that, he can get all the badass Uber security he could possibly need."

"He had all that last time, and without a little intel, they wouldn't have saved him or his planet."

Harper looked at her as he slurped his milkshake. "But boss, you made that up."

"Well... okay, yeah. But it just goes to show, a story I pulled out of my ass was more useful to him than all his fancy Nietzschean protocols. Come on, Harper, you're the best man for the job. I know it."

He swirled his straw in the half-empty glass, staring into the melting goo. "You still haven't told me why you're doing this for him." His head shot up, his blue eyes wide with horror. "Oh no. Oh no no no no no."

She blinked. "No what?"

"Beka, don't tell me _you're_ marrying that guy. Come on, that's insane!"

"Me?? Oh no, that's not how I'm... involved in all this. He's marrying a Volsung woman, her name is Dominique Mayae."

He set down his straw for a moment and slumped into his seat. "Phew. I was about to have a heart attack there, boss. Can you imagine, you chained to a Nietzschean? I'm pretty sure that's one of the circles of hell or something."

Her laugh in response was a bit forced. "Yeah, weird. Um... but there is something you should know before we talk any more. Um, a couple somethings, really. Um... I'm not the one getting married, but... I will be there, at the ceremony."

"What, are you the flower girl?"

She snorted, strangely delighted that Harper had made the same joke she had. "I told him, no flowers. I... this is really awkward. Dammit. Charlemagne and I... we're a, a thing."

He stared. "A thing? A thing like you and Tyr? That kind of thing? With the, uh, all the," he gestured, "the hugging?"

"Tyr wasn't..." She paused. "I mean, yeah, I guess."

"Wow." He tilted back his head and drained the fluted glass, then exhaled loudly. "Wow, boss. Wait, so why are you in the wedding? Wouldn't the... whatever her name is... wouldn't she feel a little weird having Bolivar's ex-girlfriend there?"

She laughed a bit weakly. "You'd think so. No, um, actually, I think she really likes me. I... did this thing for her people, just a little investigating. Anyway, it's like... I'm going to part of this weird family. And I guess I like that. I don't want anything to happen to them."

A silence fell over their little table. Harper was fiddling with the short stem of his glass, spinning it back and forth between his fingers. "Family? You're joining this Uber's family, Beka? That's... I dunno. I dunno if I can deal with that." He paused. "You said there were a couple of things. What's the other?"

If Beka's prayers had been answered right then, the deck would have swallowed her right then and there. The void of space would be friendlier than that confused, oddly hurt look in Harper's blue eyes. "His fiancee, Charlemagne's. She's a Volsung, which means that... Have you heard what Tyr's been up to lately?"

He shook his head briefly, still staring down at his empty glass.

"So he hooked up with this Pride, I forgot their name. He's, um... he's claiming that their kid is the Nietzschean messiah."

That lifted him out of his stupor. "The what? Tyr, as in... big looming guy who used to work for you? The Nietzschean _messiah_? Come on, you're pulling my leg."

"I kinda wish I was. Um, so, Dominique's people, they're related to Tyr, sort of. Distantly. I don't really know how it works. That's why Dominique's in such a hurry, she wants to cement this alliance before her people make contact with Tyr, which they're doing in two weeks. A little less than two weeks, now."

"_He's_ not going to be there, is he? If he's there, Beka, there's no way in hell I can do this for you. I don't know if I can do it anyway, but not if he's there. No way."

What a mental image_ that_ was, all four of them gathered together, smiling for the holovid. "I doubt he and Charlemagne have any desire to be in the same room again," she replied dryly. "For all I know, I'll never see him again, which is fine by me." She sighed. "Harper, I know it's weird. And I can't promise that everyone will be nice, but you _are_ the best man for the job. I know it."

He fished a credit chip out of his pocket and lay it on the table. "Don't worry about paying," he said, "I'm on the house. I dunno, boss, you gotta let me think it over. All those Nietzscheans... it brings back memories, you know? And you there in the middle of 'em. I'll talk to Trance, and I'll let you know by the end of the day. Did you get here on the Maru?"

She nodded.

"All right, well, I'll find you, okay?" They stood up, and after a bit of awkward shuffling, hugged each other tightly but briefly. "I'll see you around, boss." He turned and left the cafe, headed back in the direction of the machine shop. She had not realized until talking with him again how much she hoped he would accept. It was true that he was the best man for the job, she had not lied about that, but she could never really relax around Nietzscheans, except Charlemagne. It would be nice to have somebody she could relax around again.


	24. Chapter 24

This chapter's a bit short, my apologies. But that's just where it insisted on ending!

**Chapter Twenty Four**

After leaving the cafe, Beka decided to have a look around Miqo Drift. She couldn't stand the thought of sitting in her room, waiting for Harper to get back to her. She had not felt this nervous for a long time and could not pin down why this was. This wasn't a matter of life and death, and it wasn't even a momentous occasion like, say, the upcoming nuptials of her... what Charlemagne was; the Nietzscheans referred to her as his 'consort'; boyfriend was definitely the wrong word. Yet she felt restless and twitchy and clammy, like she was fifteen again and waiting to hear back from Bobby after their latest fight. It wasn't really the same feeling, but the thought that Harper might not want to work with her made her chest tighten. She had missed that little spaz, and Trance too.

The thought of Trance led her to the greenhouse after several wrong turns. Finally, coming around yet another identical corner, she saw a winking glass dome made of beveled glass tiles. A blurry green mass wavered inside. As she followed the edge of the dome in search of a door, Trance rounded the curve so suddenly that they bumped into one another.

"Beka!" Trance exclaimed. "Hi, wow, I'm so happy to see you!" She wrapped Beka in a hug and then bounced back on her toes. "Come on, I left a couple of things in my quarters."

Beka could only laugh as Trance's giddy energy surrounded her like a cloud of glitter. "Um, sure. Is this the greenhouse Harper was telling me about?"

Trance glanced back and nodded. "Yep, that's it. But I have to get some things – come on, I'll show you everything when I have my tools." She fairly skipped down the corridor, and Beka had to jog several steps to catch up to her.

"So it sounds like you and Harper are pretty happy here," Beka said when she caught up to Trance. "Things are going pretty good."

Trance shrugged. "Pretty good. I mean, they let me take care of my plants, and I like that better than other jobs I've had. No one yells at me here. But, you know, the drift is kinda dirty." She wrinkled her nose in faint distaste. "They don't even have a proper hydroponics bay. This was left over from..." she looked around and lowered her voice. "I think they were growing _drugs_ in here once." She nodded solemnly.

As they continued their trek to Trance's quarters, Beka was struck by Trance's total lack of curiosity about why Beka was at Miqo Drift. She chatted as if they'd not been separated for a day, all the way to her quarters. Inside, flowers bloomed and sweet smells wafted in the darkness. Before Beka could see much of anything else, Trance had

darted inside and retrieved her tools. Shears and tiny rake in hand, Trance led the way back to the greenhouse.

At one point, the route passed near the hangar, and a couple of Nietzscheans wearing familiar insignia slipped out just before Trance and Beka passed the corridor that forked off in that direction. If she had not spent most of her recent weeks around Nietzscheans, she might not have recognized the anxious looks that passed between them: raised eyebrows, tightening of their jaws, that instinctive contracting of the muscles that controlled their bone spurs. It was more than what she saw, too; the air was suddenly charged with adrenaline when they saw Beka.

And they were Jaguars. Maybe she was just picking up on a dislike of her – she didn't expect of Charlemagne's Pride to welcome her as his crew had – but Beka had always trusted her gut, and her gut was telling her that these Jaguar Nietzscheans were panicked at the very sight of her. Beka glared at them as their strode past. Let them know she was on to them, she thought. Let their superiors ream them out for getting caught.

"Beka, do you know those guys? It kinda looked like their recognized you. Are they on your ship, the Shining Path?" Trance tilted her head as she watched them walk away. She sounded curious but not worried.

"I don't know," Beka replied. "Hey, would you mind if we checked on the Maru real quick before we visit the greenhouse? It'll just be a quick detour."

"Sure," Trance chirped. "I haven't seen the Maru in so long. Harper always said it was a bucket of bolts, but I think it's kinda cute."

"It's a he." Beka was always correcting people about that. She grinned. "Cute? I don't think anyone's ever said that before."

The ever-bright lights of the hangar glowed dully on the Maru's decidedly un-shiny hull. Nothing looked amiss to Beka's eyes, but then, she hardly would expect Nietzschean saboteurs to break windows and smash gaping holes in the hull. When she tapped a code into the display near the Maru's main hatch, she saw the no one had crossed the threshold since she had disembarked a couple of hours ago.

"Trance," she said thoughtfully, "you were saying that you liked the greenhouse better than your old jobs. What exactly did you do?"

"Oh, um, I... you know, I found things. For people who wanted them. I like fixing plants and people better, but I'm pretty good at finding things."

A faint smile crossed Beka's lips. "That's what I thought. I think there might be a bomb somewhere on my ship. I don't want you to touch it, but do you think you could find it and show it to me? I'll even pay your going rate for, um, finding things."

Trance waved her hand dismissively. "Oh no, we're friends, Beka. If you really want, you can take Harper and me out to eat tonight. Most nights he eats these dried noodle things, ew."

"It's a deal."

With that, Trance set down her tools, went very still, and let her eyes roam across the surface of the Maru. After a few quiet minutes, she took slow steps toward the Maru until she has close enough that she lightly skimmed the hull with her fingers. Beka could swear that she heard the girl singing under her breath. Trance rose on her toes and dropped to her knees as she made a circuit around the Maru, then another.

"I think..." she whispered, before peering behind the engine compartment. "I found it! Right back here, on the other side of these square thingies." Beka hurried over to where she was pointing. She would have missed it if not for Trance's guidance; even so, she could barely make out a metallic grey sliver, small as a playing card, that should not have been stuck to the anti-matter tanks. She hated to imagine what it was supposed to do to her ship and what _that_ would have done to her.

"Great," she breathed. "Okay. Trance, what do you think of drift security? If I asked for their help in getting this thing off my ship, do you think they'd actually be useful? Do I have to bribe them?"

"Hmm. If you're a friend of Harper's, they'll probably help you out. I think the administration here is pretty happy to have him."

Beka chuckled. "Thanks again, Trance. Let's go make a report and then we'll finally see this greenhouse I've heard so much about." She paused and gave Trance a long, curious look. "It's funny... if you hadn't forgotten your tools, we would have completely missed those Nietzscheans, I would never have seen that explosive. Are you always this lucky?"

Trance gave her a smile and a lopsided shrug before skipping out of the hangar, tools once again in hand, toward drift security. Good at finding things, indeed.

**

Harper gaped at them over their drinks. "A bomb?!"

Beka nodded. "Trance found it, and security here disarmed it. They said it was a pretty nasty one. It's triggered by the engines preparing for liftoff and would have exploded the moment I tried to enter slipstream."

"And killed us along with you," Trance added.

Harper made a face. "Only if we agreed, and now I'm not so sure about that." At Trance's outraged look of surprise, he held up his hands defensively. "What, there are people trying to kill her! No offense, boss, but I dunno if it's worth it."

As if on cue, the server came by with a steaming appetizer plate loaded down with half a dozen fried, steamed, grilled, and otherwise delicious-smelling kinds of food. Harper gazed at it longingly as it made its way to their table. As he reached out his hand to take something, Trance slapped his hand.

"Harper! Beka is asking for our help!"

He shook his hand and gave her a wounded look. "I know, Trance, but listen, we got a good thing here. I dunno if they're just gonna keep my job for me if I ship out for two weeks."

Beka interrupted before they could snipe at each other anymore. "Hey, look, I understand. Harper, Trance was telling me that you haven't taken a vacation since you got here. It'll be less than two weeks, and I can promise you transportation back here as soon as you want it. But that's only if you want to come. You're the best guy for the job, I know it, but it _is_ dangerous."

Harper stared into his beer as Trance toyed with the umbrella that had come with her drink. "I mean... I thought you were in good with those people, Beka. What's going on?"

She took a sip of her fruit-infused seltzer. She had wondered the same thing, so she had done a little research, back in her quarters. Though she was something like semi-retired from Darjella's organization at this point, she still had access to the intel – and because of Darjella's many clashes with Pride Jaguar, there was a lot of interesting information. Beka had contributed a bit of it, what she felt comfortable divulging.

"It's the Alpha, Heinrich Sheroky. He hates Charlemagne, hates my sort-of employer, opposes almost anything the Matriarch supports, and lately he's been saying some pretty nasty things about Tyr's little movement. I get the feeling that he'd like to align his Pride with the Drago-Kazov, but his people are a little nervous about coming out against Charlemagne and the Matriarch, not to mention the Nietzschean messiah."

"The Drago-Kazov??" Harper dropped the fried something in his fingers into one of the tiny bowls of sauce. "Crap. I hate those guys." As he fished his food out of the bowl, a thoughtful expression crossed his face. "Then again... Beka, are you saying that, if I do this for you, I will be pissing off some Uber who likes the Dragans _and_ who tried to kill you?"

Beka grinned and nodded. "That's what I'm saying. Look, I'm not going to tell you that Charlemagne is the best thing for humanity since the Systems Commonwealth, but if he and the Matriarch are in power, the Dragans will have one less ginormous fleet at their disposal."

Trance clapped her hands. "This'll be so much fun, all of us back together again!"

**

She's red again, clad once more in lace instead of purple velvet, and she's smiling wryly. "You can't blame me, you know. I knew that the three of us had to be together, even back then, and I thought that maybe Tyr would be close enough for... for the right things to happen. This was one of the first paths I ever tried, so maybe I had an excuse." She shrugs that same lopsided shrug.

"I was just so happy to see her again. Beka, she... you can't help but love her. In different ways, we all loved her, and no matter what else changed every time I tried a new path, a new branch, that stayed the same." Tears are glistening in her eyes, but she's smiling. "She's just the sort of heart you need in a universe like that: tough, maybe a little scarred, but loyal and always willing to love again." She wipes her eyes and laughs.

"I'm sorry, I won't interrupt again. Anyway, there's not much left. This wasn't a path that could have worked out to bring back civilization, when I think back on it. But Beka inspired so much love in such funny places. I hoped it would be enough.


	25. Chapter 25

**LB - **Oooh, a new reader, how exciting! Thanks so much for your comments. The interactions and pairings are really fun to write, so I'm glad you're enjoying reading them!

**B.L.A the Mouse** - I always have to restrain myself from adding more narrator!Trance; I want the ending to come as a surprise! I will say, though... there's a very good reason this isn't the universe she chose.

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

When Beka returned to the Shining Path with Trance and Harper in tow, she realized that her time at Miqo Drift had been a _break_. A sort of vacation, really, from the madness that would soon engulf her ship and the people around her. She could feel it in the ship's atmosphere, like a humming just outside of her hearing range. Tension. Things were changing.

She had hoped that Charlemagne would welcome her back, not only because of her feelings for him but mainly so he could reassure Harper that his services would be valued. Instead, one of the Jaguar Nietzscheans opened the hangar from Command and Dominique greeted her when the Maru docked.

"Rebecca, I'm so glad to see you," Dominique began. Her restrained words were belief by a warm smile and her grip on Beka's hands when she descended from the Maru. "Charlemagne would have liked to greet you in person, but he left early this morning to consult with his Matriarch about the Alpha's attempt on your life. You may be amused to hear that rumors of your demise were already circulating when we received your message."

Beka snorted. 'Amused' was one way to put it. "To tell you the truth, I wouldn't have noticed the explosive without her help." She nodded at Trance, and the girl stepped shyly forward. "Dominique Mayae, this is Trance Gemini. It seems that Trance here is my lucky charm. Even if I had spotted Sheroky's lackeys, I might not have found the bomb without her help. Apparently it's the latest tech, invisible to most bomb sweepers."

Trance dipped a lopsided little curtsy under Dominique's curious gaze. "Trance Gemini," Dominique repeated, a bit less warmly but very politely. "I must thank you for keeping Rebecca alive. I hope you shall continue to assist her in such a precarious venture, especially with so powerful an enemy."

Trance offered a confused smile. "Um, you're welcome? I'll do my best." Her smile broadened. "Are you the one Beka told us about, the lady who's getting married? That's so sweet, I've never been to a Nietzschean wedding."

Dominique laughed. "Nor will you likely have the occasion again. Most Nietzschean weddings are... substantially less formal affairs."

Out of the corner of her eye, Beka could see Harper leering openly at Dominique. She suppressed an urge to smack him the way she used to smack Rafe when he ogled girls like that. "And this is Seamus Harper, who is tasked with keeping Charlemagne alive, considering his track record so far with weddings." She sent Harper a hard glare and prayed that he didn't say anything too embarrassing.

"It's a pleasure," he said in the oiliest tone Beka had heard from him. "I can see why the man's in such a hurry to marry you." If he undressed Dominique with his eyes any more aggressively, she'd be standing in her skivvies. "Rest assured, madame, you will be in the best of hands while Seamus Harper's in charge."

Dominique cocked her head to study Harper like he was an exceedingly simple biological specimen who had just performed far beyond her expectations. Like a dog who had done mathematics, perhaps. "Very curious."

She looked at Beka with a thoughtful expression. "All of the human males I've encountered have been Castalian, and therefore quite hostile. I had honestly wondered whether human men were genetically capable of attraction to Nietzschean women."

Harper blinked at this, for once at a loss for words. His annoying flirtations had probably never been dissected so scientifically. He glanced at Trance, who just shrugged and smiled.

Beka rolled her eyes. "Some of them are capable of attraction to anything remotely female with a pulse. Harper, down. Come on, I'll show you guys to your quarters, and then we can get down to business, if you can contain yourself. Dominique, are you free right now?"

The other woman nodded. "I came aboard specifically to meet you and your colleagues." A grin flitted across her face. "The Matriarch was very displeased with my decision; she feels I have been away from home and my people too much already."

Beka winced. The last thing she needed on top of the Jaguar Alpha's wrath was the irritation of the Volsung Matriarch. Nietzschean politics, ugh.

As they walked through the smoothly rising and falling corridors of the Path, Beka could not help remembering what the ship's crew had looked like the last time Harper and Trance were here. It was a motley selection of races, mostly her personal security retinue... and Tyr had been her First Officer. A glance back at Trance showed the girl in a dreamy-eyed reverie of her own. Leave it to Harper, of course, to break the quiet.

"So, boss... uh, bosses, where are you planning to hold this shindig?"

"Last I heard," Beka replied, addressing Dominique rather than Harper, "you guys were trying to decide between the Volsung platform, one of Castalia's moons, and a nearby Jaguar Alliance world."

Dominique nodded. "Yes, we considered all of those locations, but none were satisfactory. Charlemagne is wary of holding the ceremony on unfamiliar territory, and I confess that I do not relish the idea of delivering myself into the Jaguar den if the Alpha is wroth with Charlemagne. Had we months to negotiate, I do not doubt one of us would concede, but as it is... there was one location which we found mutually acceptable."

Beka paled. That glint in Dominique's eye could not be a good sign. "The Path," she said flatly.

"Precisely. It is the nearest we can find to neutral ground. Though it is Charlemagne's residence for the time being, it is more importantly captained by the Volsung people's champion. There will be objections, to be sure, but Charlemagne and I have agreed that we both feel secure here."

Harper gave Beka a funny look, but she was not quite ready to get into 'Volsung people's champion.' Besides, she had much more important things to worry about right now. Dominique's cool explanation of the decision made sense, but the thought of several dozen more Nietzscheans running around on her ship made Beka dizzy. She had come to know Charlemagne's loyal band of followers, how to ignore their inevitable arrogance and self-conceit, how to get them to listen to her, and she thought she could deal with about that many Nietzscheans and retain her sanity. But Dominique would need a band of her own, and the Matriarchs would doubtless bring attendants, and they might require additional security personnel...

Her head started spinning before Dominique had finished speaking. "But I don't know anything about hosting ceremonies or parties or whatever exactly this is. And I gotta say, champion though I might have been, a lot of your people – on both sides – are going to object to holding this big strategic affair on not only a human's ship... you know, my ship in particular." She didn't want to repeat that consort conversation in front of Harper. He didn't need to be reminded of it.

Dominique, that irritating woman, only grinned like a lunatic. "You think it will be seen as flaunting your relationship with Charlemagne? You're right – some people will take that as an insult. That is our hope. The Jaguar Alpha has all but declared war on Charlemagne by attacking you, and anything less than flaunting you would be to appear to cave to him."

All the double and triple deceit and strategy of Nietzschean politics gave Beka a headache. "Okay," she relented. "Fine. I guess I should be flattered that you're so protective. It's weird, but nice."

"And hey," Harper piped up, "I already know the Path inside and out. By the time I'm done, you won't be able to carry unauthorized butter knife aboard this ship."

The mental image of Nietzschean battling to the death with butter knives made Beka smile, and she felt herself relax.

-o-

While they could accept that their leader had taken a human consort, Charlemagne's Nietzschean retinue were much cooler toward the human Security Chief and his mysteriously purple companion who divided her time between Medical and Hydroponics. Beka checked up on the two of them more than was probably necessary and found that, while they were doing their jobs just as well as she had expected, there was absolutely no camaraderie between them and their Nietzschean colleagues. Harper was probably enjoying his position of power over them a little too much, but dammit, they should have seem that he was competent at their job.

"Really, Beka," Charlemagne informed her when she complained about the cool relations between their crew, "you should consider that much something of a minor miracle. As far as I know, not one of my people has called your lucky friend a purple monkey to her face." His tone was laced with sincere wonder. "It's remarkable. And the current feeling toward the Drago-Kazov on this ship is so hostile that I doubt anyone has said anything patronizing toward our security chief about this home world."

"I'm sure it helps that they'll be leaving in a week," Beka replied. She hated that they would be leaving so soon – and was surprised at how much she wished they could stay. As much as she would love to install Harper as Chief Engineer and Trance as Chief Medic, Harper had not failed to make clear that this job was temporary. He liked Beka and even got along with Charlemagne for entire half-hours at a time, but she could see how tense he was most of the time, even if she could dismiss all his half-jokes about how glad he'd be to get the smell of genetic perfection out of his hair.

Charlemagne treated her to one of his genuine, warm smiles. "I do believe you've forgotten that you're a rather stark anomaly in the history of human-Nietzschean relations. Since the fall of the Commonwealth, my people have very rarely served under a human. We have enslaved them much more frequently."

She glared, but she could not argue with his logic. He was probably right; Harper's experience with Nietzscheans was more characteristic of the average human's experience with Nietzscheans that hers. "Yeah, yeah. I'm just gonna miss 'em, you know? Not that you aren't _scintillating _company, and I expect that any day Dominique is going to ask me to do her nails as we watch trashy holonovels and talk about boys, but..." She sighed.

"And _you_," she continued as she poked Charlemagne in the chest, "you're getting married. I still insist that she's perfect for you, but... things are gonna change." She swallowed and couldn't meet his eyes. "Between us. If you two are going to try to ally the Volsung and the Jaguar prides with Tyr's movement, you'll be appearing together. A lot."

He wrapped an arm around her, and she heaved another deep sigh into his shoulder. The worst part was, she had known all along that this would happen. Sometimes she could not remember why she had decided to take their relationship to this level, but the warmth of his arm and the solidity of his chest under her cheek reminded her of how happy she was when she could steal a moment alone with him.

"At this point," he said softly, his voice rumbling in his chest, "I cannot tell you that I would be content to call of the wedding at your word. Plans have progressed too far for that."

With a blench of her stomach, Beka knew he was right. She would not have asked, not not dreamed of asking when he had so offered in the past, and yet... that choice had always been available. Now it was gone, and Beka felt strangely bereft.

"But my dear," he continued, his warm breath ruffling her hair, "you shall always be welcome at my side, and for my part, I will endeavor to be at yours, as often as I may, so long as you desire me there. You're perfectly right that our relationship will change, but consider this."

He adjusted his position and gently pulled Beka up to look at him. Deep currents stirred behind is blue eyes as he smiled faintly at her. "You shall have a family, Rebecca. Perhaps not the usual human sort, but you shall have two people, possibly one day more, who will cherish you and defend you to the utmost of their capacity."

Beka could only stare back at him as his words echoed down the passages of her brain. A family. People who loved her. Was it worth losing Harper and Trance, to gain a strange little Nietzschean family? She didn't know, couldn't say, but she knew she had to give this thing Charlemagne was describing a try. She reached her hands up to stroke his handsome face, still disbelieving in spite of everything that this was happening to her. His eyes fluttered closed, and they sat that way for some time, memorizing this quiet moment before the universe swept them once more into the fray.

-o-

On the pretext of checking on Harper's progress, Beka was getting in some quality human time with the skinny little mudfoot. She realized that she wouldn't be getting much of it in the future. She'd had to brush away a teetering stack of Sparky Cola cans to perch on the stool in the Machine Shop where Harper was modifying some of the Path's nanobots to detect something or other. As he worked, he regaled her with fantastical tales of his short-lived job with a high-stakes casino, which she had no doubt he was exaggerating hugely.

"It had to be worth ten million thrones, easy. Worth more than my life, at least to its owner. So I'm up for three days straight tryin' to find it, scared outta my mind that someone walked off with it and he's gonna blame me."

Beka laughed. "Can you blame him? Guy entrusts the place with a family heirloom older than this ship, and you kept it under your pillow!"

"Hey hey, it's never failed me in the past! Anyway, so... come on, come on you little bot, come to daddy... so I'm seriously considering smuggling myself on the text ship outta here with Trance – she's looking out for me while I'm freaking out, you know, feeding me and stuff – she's tryin' to clear some room cos I got all these cans on the floor, and something rattles inside one of 'em." He paused for dramatic effect. "She dumps it in the sink, and it falls right down the pipe! She says, 'Harper, that thing you're looking for. Is it shiny?' and I dove for the sink and ripped the pipe outta the wall."

He bent over his table for a few seconds, poked something and caused a shower of iridescent pink sparks, then glanced up again and downed half a can of Sparky Cola. Beka felt her gut twist at the sight of it.

"It was covered in sink crap, you know, hair and saliva, but it was there. I had to clean it myself cos no way in hell I'm trusting anyone else with it, and when he shows up at the front desk, it's as good as new. My boss, though, she knew it had gone missing, and-"

The chime trilled, and a moment later, Dominique picked her way through the mechanical refuse toward Beka. She inclined her head to Harper in greeting but did not waste time with small talk. "He agreed to hear us," she announced without preamble. "He refused the invitation to my wedding, as we had expected, but he desires an audience with you, Charlemagne, and myself the day before."

The story Harper had been telling her flew out of her head in an instant. "Here?" Suddenly, the pounding of her heart was the loudest sound in the room. "He's coming here?"

Dominique nodded and handed Beka a flexi with the message. It was terse, the tone not quite annoyed but extremely busy, and contained nothing of his personality, his intensity. She felt disappointed but also relieved; if he wanted a short, business-only kind of meeting, she thought she might be able to meet his eyes coolly.

Harper looked between them, eyebrows raised and forehead wrinkled in obvious confusion. "Um, hello? Do I get a secret decoder ring, or is somebody going to tell me what's going on? Who's coming here?"

Beka looked up from the flexi and gave Harper a thin, wry smile. He shook his head. "Oh no, no way. Boss, come on, I was there last time he was here."

"So was I," she said, more brusquely than she'd intended. "Fortunately for all of us, so was Charlemagne. This time we have warning, Harper. How far along are your preparations?"

He glanced around the machine shop, wild-eyed. "Well, uh, internal defense is beefed up about a zillion percent, but right now it's keyed only to respond to me. I figured it's easier to tinker when I don't have to worry about confusing with conflicting signals. But the contraband nanobots are still in the early stages, and-"

Beka cut him off. "Internal defense is all I need. And... keep the controls to yourself, for now. I don't expect we'll need it, but I would like to have a surprise or two up my sleeve." She took a deep breath and released. When she spoke again, the tension had left her voice. "Hey, it's not like he's coming tonight. Keep at it, Harper."

He nodded at her, eyed Dominique for another moment, and then swiveled back to his work, muttering to himself.

Dominique watched him for a lingering second before turning her gaze back to Beka. "Then you agree. We shall meet with Tyr Anasazi."


End file.
